


Just Partners

by Semianonymity



Category: Toriko (Anime & Manga)
Genre: M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:12:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semianonymity/pseuds/Semianonymity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coco comes to the realization that Toriko and Komatsu are just partners—nothing more. That doesn’t sit quite right. Sunny and Zebra agree.</p><p>A story in which Toriko is kind of clueless, and the others don’t let that hold them back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Coco runs into Toriko on a business trip. It's the time of year that the translucent salmon run, and a number of bishokuya always gather—it's not particularly dangerous by Coco or Toriko's standards, but it's a quick, solid way to put money in the bank. Coco is thinking idly about bringing some back for Komatsu, who's never had it before, and the thought of what he'd do with the pink fillets, so clear that the light shines right through them like rose quartz crystals, is impressive. Not that Coco could ever guess—Komatsu is much better at preparing ingredients than he could ever be, working not just with finesse but with invention, creativity—

Coco could spend a long time thinking about Komatsu, and has, trying to analyze all the ways in which he is extraordinary, the how and why of how he fits so perfectly with Coco himself, with the other Kings, most especially with his partner. Komatsu and Toriko are a seamless match, startlingly so. Coco had never imagined that Toriko would find someone who could keep up with his boundless will, let alone in the body of a small, ordinary-looking chef. On first glance, Komatsu had been born to be overlooked.

It's a long train ride to Last Chance, the somewhat over-dramatically named town that marks the last stop before you reach the Northern Gourmetlands, filled with oversized evergreens and prone to snow storms even during midsummer, impassably snowed-in all winter and spring and fall—for the average person, at least. Coco takes the journey as a chance to update his calendar, check his scheduled jobs for the coming months, his long-term plans. It's almost the beginning of January, after all, and he likes to stay organized.

Toriko, across from him, is mindlessly munching on something, but he looks up with a reasonable amount of attention when Coco clears his throat. "I was thinking about what we should do for Komatsu's birthday," he began, carefully. "If you don't have plans for March thirty-first, then perhaps we could all do something. Although, considering Sunny and Zebra..."

Toriko makes a noncommittal noise. "Don't know what I'll be doing," he says, shrugging. "Oh! Hey, Coco, did you know that Komatsu's  _twenty-five_? He's the same age as me!"

"I did," Coco says stiffly, posture straightening with his surprise. "Toriko... You really didn't know Komatsu's age?" He's honestly baffled.

Toriko laughs: hearty, unrestrained. "No, I didn't! It doesn't matter, though. He'd still be the same cook, even if he  _was_  nineteen."

Coco openly gapes at him, feeling a growing sense of unease that's only half preternatural intuition. "...You don't know his birthday either, do you," he says, not really a question.

"Why would I? I don't know why  _you_  do."

"To celebrate his birthday with him," Coco said slowly, trying to push down an entirely uncharacteristic surge of anger, irritation, and something a little more shameful. "I was thinking about where to take him for dinner, Toriko, and I wanted to make sure you wouldn't have plans then."

"Unless it's a special time of year or the perfect weather for an ingredient, I don't have anything," Toriko says, dismissing the conversation and pulling out a sandwich.

Coco's hands clench into tight fists, but he stays collected. There is no blush of poison. "Why not?" he asks, tight, controlled, and Toriko looks up in mild surprise.

"We're partners," he says, like that  _explains_  things, not the opposite. "Komatsu knows that, too. We're a great combo. It's all about the ingredients!"

Coco thinks of Komatsu's pure, perfect trust and his uncontrolled, uncontrollable enthusiasm and feels suddenly very tired, very defeated. He can't imagine that Komatsu's happiness with Toriko is explained away in a purely professional sense—it's more than a companionable bond between coworkers, certainly. Is it nothing more than trust that Toriko will help him find the tastiest ingredients for him to prepare, that Toriko will see him home safely if he can? They are trying to conquer the Gourmet World, eventually if not now. They are trying to do the unattainable, and there has to be more than trust to that. At the very least, it needs to run deep, and Komatsu feels things with everything he's got. It's part of his charm, even if he overreacts, doesn't ever really hold himself back.

"And what does that have to do with Komatsu's birthday?" Coco asks, cool and reserved, eyes narrowing.

"It doesn't matter," Toriko says, and shifts away from Coco, and the conversation ends.

* * *

When Coco drops the salmon off at the restaurant, Komatsu invites him back to his apartment for a meal.

"Please, Coco-san! I have an excellent idea for a marinade, and it can be seared or cooked over cedar, or prepared raw for sashimi—"

It's not even the promise of an excellent meal that makes him accept. Komatsu has asked him, after all. That's part of it. And Komatsu looks so  _enthusiastic_  when he asks, genius mind already flicking through combinations, ideas, new ideas. A small smile spreads across Coco's face. There's nothing to say.

"Of course, Komatsu-kun. I'd be honored."

The smile falters as they leave the hotel, walking the two blocks to Komatsu's apartment. Of course he lives so close. But has Toriko ever been here? This will be Coco's first visit, but he's not nearly as close with Komatsu as Toriko is. What would Toriko think of something as personal as visiting his apartment?

Coco reconsiders when they arrive. The apartment—top floor, a small balcony, not huge but more than enough space for a single person, especially someone like Komatsu—is nice but impersonal. There's barely-worn furniture, some books on the shelves, an empty vase that looks like a gift. But what does Coco know about Komatsu's taste? Other than gastronomically, where he is of course impeccable.

It all makes more sense in the kitchen, which is Komatsu's first stop, Coco padding along behind him in sock feet. None of the visitor's slippers will fit. Komatsu had looked terribly upset, but hadn't said anything. Coco wants to tell him that house shoes almost never fit him, let alone any of the other kings with the exception of sometimes Sunny, that it's no problem and not to worry about it and he's just trying to not be rude. That's the last thing he ever wants. But Komatsu didn't say anything, so Coco can't say anything in return.

Once they get to the kitchen everything fits much better, Coco thinks. There are pictures on a bulletin board by the table, which has a bowl of fruit in the center of it, there's a set of shelves filled with cookbooks ordered according to use, based off of the battered corners and cracked spines on the books on the most easily-accessible shelves, the ones placed at Komatsu's height. It simply feels more comfortable, more lived-in, more an extension of Komatsu's self than the sterile, generic furnishings of the living room.

Komatsu sets the fish on the counter, and turns to beam at Coco. "Coco-san! Please, have a seat—ah, I should have stayed in the living room, maybe? Let me get tea started—I'm being rude again." He smiles at that, eyes crinkling with uncomplicated joy, smile just a touch sheepish, and doesn't look like it's a real regret at all. Coco smiles back like it's a reflex.

"Please, Komatsu-kun, don't worry. The kitchen is fine. More than fine."

Komatsu turns away from the stove, kettle on for tea now, and relaxes a little. "Sit at the table," he says, not an order at all despite the phrasing. "I'll have tea and snacks ready in a moment." Of course he will, Coco thinks. Komatsu is like that. Of course he would be traditional when it comes to making a guest feel at home, when it comes to taking care of people.

The chef busies himself in the cabinets, preparing tea and carefully arranging a few sweets, some crackers, delicate slices of fruit on plates, fussing a little to himself about color and texture as he works, while the water heats. The smell of the tea, when it's poured, is obvious even to Coco, invigorating but as delicate as the very first spring leaves. Komatsu sets everything carefully on the table before seating himself, and Coco smiles back, automatically, almost before he even registers that Komatsu is smiling at him.

"There," Komatsu says, like the issue's settled. "I'm sorry I'm not set up to have guests! I don't spend too much time here, especially now I'm out with Toriko-san so often. Most of the chefs I know just visit at the restaurant—some of us have brunch every once in a while, we switch venues and chefs. It's a nice chance to show off a little, swap recipes and ideas." He smiles again, and Coco tries not to feel too guilty, because this is the first time he's ever heard Komatsu talk about anyone other then the Kings. But of course Komatsu would have friends; he's much friendlier, kinder and more open, than any of the others, Coco included, of course. Komatsu had his own life before he followed Toriko into the wilderness in search of new ingredients and new experiences, and while his partnership with Toriko no doubt defines him in some ways, it doesn't mean that there aren't aspects to Komatsu's life that fall outside his experiences as Toriko's partner.

The tea is excellent, Coco thinks, moving his thoughts away from the bone-deep loneliness that hits, unexpectedly, at the thought that Komatsu's life probably doesn't include Coco to nearly the same degree that Coco's life includes Komatsu. Komatsu has done more for him than he knows, no doubt. It's best that way, and he should feel greedy for wanting more of his time, his attention. Although greediness is, to a certain extent, a requirement to be a successful gourmet hunter, so maybe that should come as no surprise.

Certainly Toriko has no problems with taking freely of Komatsu's time and energy. Coco is not particularly happy with him right now, however. For reasons he doesn't particularly want to explore, especially not now, when they're finally talking to each other again, when it's finally starting to feel like they're still the brothers they once were.

Coco sees very clearly, in more ways than one, which does not exempt him from moments of willful blindness.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Coco says instead, concentrating on Komatsu again. "This tea is wonderful."

The chef's eyes sparkle as he sits up a little straighter, gesturing with his hands as his usual enthusiasm when it comes to food starts to bubble over. "It's green phoenix tea, from the valley of eternal spring! Sunny-san brought me some last month because he said I could use some more food with beautiful properties to it—" Coco can't help but smile, because he can hear Sunny saying that as clear as day, can hear his pout and paper-thin excuse to bring Komatsu a present. "And it's supposed to help with rejuvenation and longevity. It's got a fantastic fresh quality to it that's simultaneously peaceful yet awakening, almost meditative. It's really best in the morning but I thought you might like it, and it goes really well with the crisp sweetness of honey-apples."

"Sunny was visiting last week?" Coco asked, trying to fit him into the context of Komatsu's rather plain, common-sense apartment, and finding it oddly easy, in the same way that Sunny looked utterly at home with Komatsu despite his initial reaction and usual tendencies.

"Just at the restaurant!" Komatsu said cheerily, as he swallows a bite of rice cracker. It's nice to share a meal with him, no matter if it's just snacks, considering how much time Komatsu has spent cooking for him—for them. Not that meals prepared by Komatsu weren't wonderful. More than wonderful. "He stopped by mid-morning so I made chilled golden carrot soup and mineral-chard quiche. I'm glad you're okay with all my chairs here being too small for you, but I'm not sure that Sunny-san would be, and I guess it's for the best that Zebra-san and Toriko-san have never come over, because they just wouldn't fit at  _all._ " Komatsu frowns for a moment. It's probably true, Coco thinks, Toriko and Zebra dwarf normal furniture, and Komatsu's furnishings are even smaller than that. Of course Komatsu would have a house sized to match him.

Which doesn't prevent it from feeling terribly  _wrong_ that Toriko—Toriko! Komatsu's partner!—has never seen his home.

And of course Coco doesn't mind furnishings too short to fit him perfectly. He's used to his height, usually comfortable with the fact that he's very, very tall until you compare him to Toriko or Zebra. It's one of the things that makes him stand out, and one of the things he's had to adjust to. It's not like it's any different for any of the others, except that Sunny thoroughly enjoys his height and Zebra loves an excuse to snarl at someone or break something.

"Komatsu-kun, it's an honor to be invited over, and your furniture isn't any sort of imposition. I'm more than used to chairs that are a little too short for me," Coco says, a little unsettled at how open, how honest, that statement is. Komatsu leaves him raw and vulnerable, in ways that are usually a relief. Komatsu is certainly exempt from the distance his poison creates with the rest of the world.

When Komatsu frowns, Coco worries for a brief moment before the chef puts a hand on his, a comforting grip. "But Coco-san, you shouldn't have to be used to furniture that's too small!" Komatsu wails, and it's like a heart-attack, the sudden once-more realization that Coco has misunderstood and underestimated Komatsu again, the realization that Komatsu wants him  _comfortable_ , wants him  _included_ , wants to take away the hardship in his life no matter how ridiculous it seems for a pint-sized chef to protect one of the most poisonous beings ever known of.

"Komatsu-kun," Coco says, then falls silent, because he's not sure what to say. Komatsu doesn't seem to notice any awkwardness, any unfortunate pauses in the conversation.

"You're tall, but I'm short and I have no problem finding furniture that fits me! And it doesn't seem fair to you or any of the others. It shouldn't be any problem to find some bigger chairs, in case Sunny-san or Toriko-san or even Zebra-san—in case you come visit again! Maybe I don't need to but I want to, Coco-san, because you're all a part of my life and I'd like having you over more—"

Lost in his own thoughts, Coco almost misses how Komatsu suddenly goes silent, like he's bitten off the end of a sentence he hadn't meant to begin. But he can't figure out why, so instead he smiles, letting a little of the warmth that Komatsu always kindles show in the expression, and Komatsu smiles back. Nothing can be too wrong, with Komatsu smiling at him. Carefully, Coco puts a hand on his shoulder, and the sudden increase in the intensity of his smile is better than anything Coco has ever eaten, he thinks. "Komatsu-san, you're too forward," he says, because it's still true. "But it suits you, and I can't dislike it too much."

"Can you stay for dinner?" Komatsu asks, after a slight lull.

"I'd be honored," Coco says. Of course.

* * *

Coco ends up helping in the kitchen, despite Komatsu's protests. He probably does as much hindering as helping, but he does stir the soup and mince herbs and taste what he's told too, even if he rarely has much more to offer than an honest "delicious!" Despite his lack of finesse, especially compared to Komatsu, it's nice to work side-by-side with him, as much out of his element as Komatsu is on his adventures with Toriko and, sometimes, Coco himself—that is, not completely uneasy, not quite right for the situation but matching it somehow, and learning something new in the process. And well-guided. Whatever else you could say about Toriko, he took great care of his partner. They complimented each other as perfectly as you could ask for.

They eat together, which is almost as satisfying as the meal, to Coco. Over the final course, a compote of bear-berries served over a pine-nut torte, deemed thematically appropriate to go with the salmon by Komatsu, who's been experimenting with regional ingredients lately, Coco finds himself turning over the issue of Toriko in his mind, over and over. Toriko isn't—cruel. That isn't it. He usually didn't care enough to be truly nasty, although Komatsu is, of course, an exception when it comes to Toriko's attention. In some ways.

Toriko has never seen Komatsu's house; he doesn't know his birthday, or even how old he is. He has no interest in coming up with birthday plans, unless something delicious happens to coincide with the date. It isn't cruel. Technically speaking. He certainly—probably—doesn't mean to wound Komatsu. Does Komatsu even care that the details of his life, other than his ability in the kitchen, simply don't matter to Toriko? Technically, all they have to do is cook and eat together: partners. That's all their relationship  _i_ _s_ , plus or minus situations where a life has been saved. Komatsu is becoming a better chef, and Toriko is challenged to increase his own skill level in ways he hasn't been for years before he met Komatsu. It's a healthy, friendly professional relationship. And Coco cannot imagine wanting to miss out on this: on Komatsu's small apartment, the kitchen warm and steamy still, dishes in the sink that Coco will insist on washing later on, Komatsu's pots of herbs on the windowsill above the sink, both of them full of good food, even if not in the quantities that Komatsu can provide at the Hotel Gourmet, everything peaceful, and warm, and cozy, intimate. A lot of words that Coco would never have applied to himself, before, but finds himself eternally grateful for, now. With Komatsu, he can be close to someone else, he can be at ease, and—

"Coco-san, is something on your mind?" Komatsu asks suddenly, pushing a re-filled cup of tea towards Coco. He's switched blends, to something warm and spicy with cloves and ginger, and Coco is aware that it probably competes better with the rich, deep flavors of the meal than the earlier tea would. Komatsu is always thinking about things like that. And always worrying about Coco, even when it isn't necessary, which is sometimes slightly distressing, always a surprise, and always welcome.

Coco smiles. "I was wondering if it would be too forward to plan something for your birthday," he says, which isn't completely untrue.

"Oh! Coco-san, that—it would be great, of course! But don't feel like you need to or anything, I usually just have a cake with the staff at the restaurant, I wouldn't really do much of anything at all but it's a nice chance for them to come up with a new cake recipe." He pauses, looking like Coco's oblique offer is a true compliment, but also like he's far more surprised than he should be.

"It would be my pleasure," Coco says, suddenly, not used to feeling this deeply about things.

But Komatsu speaks over him, blurting out the sentence like he honestly doesn't understand but really, really wants to. "But why would you do something for my birthday?" he asks, like the concept that Coco simply wants to spend more time with him, celebrating his life, is something he can't grasp. "I'm sure you're busy! It would be wonderful, Coco-san, but I just didn't expect that— Of course it would be a pleasure! I could cook dinner, take the night off from work..."

"I wouldn't ask you to cook your own birthday dinner!" Coco says suddenly, his own eyes going wide, a hand going automatically to one of Komatsu's, his fingers resting against the back of his hand, feeling the fine bones and tendons covered by delicate skin. "Komatsu-kun, it's your birthday. It won't be home-cooked, but as much as I appreciate your food, it wouldn't be much of a present to give you more work to do."

"Cooking for you is always wonderful, Coco-san," Komatsu says immediately, his tone making it clear how honestly true the sentiment is. Coco finds himself inhaling carefully around a sudden lump in his throat.

There's another slight pause. "I guess I just didn't expect this!" Komatsu says, suddenly, with another smile. "I love cooking for you—for all of you, you know. But it's—" he breaks off, shrugging. "It is what it is. You're all so busy, it can't be easy to just come see me, and really, my birthday's such a little thing."

"Toriko doesn't know when your birthday is," Coco says, suppressing another little surge of irritation. Or anger, surprising as that is.

"You do?" Komatsu asks, clearly surprised. "Coco-san! Now I feel bad not knowing when your birthday is." He frowns at his napkin, slowly folding it into a flower, tweaking it so the "petals" lay just so. "I didn't really expect you to care about something like a birthday," he says finally, slowly. "I don't mean that as an insult! I'm just a chef—we haven't known each other long. I didn't realize it would be something you'd worry about. Toriko... He doesn't think about things like that. Which is fine, of course, he's a great partner! But I should have thought. Coco-san, I'd love to spend my birthday with you."

The final sentence makes Coco smile, honestly, relaxing all at once. Komatsu's birthday is certainly something to look forward to. He hadn't even realized how much Komatsu's surprise had tensed him up. What if Komatsu-kun had wanted to keep him at a distance, wanted a purely professional relationship? A professional relationship that Coco has no claim to, because Toriko is Komatsu's partner.

He puts aside the rest of what's been said, because it's warm in the kitchen, and because he isn't sure he could manage much more conversation as nerve-wracking as that, and because Komatsu is there, and it is always nice to talk to him. More than nice.

"Thank you, Komatsu-kun," he says, finally. "So, you mentioned you're changing the menu at the restaurant? What sort of changes are you putting in place?"

Komatsu probably talks too much, technically speaking, but it's nice to have him chatter about business, food supply, changing fashions, new chefs with new skills—and new flaws. It's nice to hear Komatsu talk about his life, and when Komatsu starts asking questions, Coco will be happy to answer them, talking about his last few business trips and how things were going with fortune-telling. Coco isn't really used to talking about the mundane details of his life, little things like that, but Komatsu makes it easy.

* * *

"I found Toriko but 'Matsu wasn't with him because he went to visit his family, which is no doubt full of disgustin' short people," Sunny announces, in full-on pout as Coco walks in his front door. Foresight keeps him from reacting defensively, flicking poison at him; not that Sunny wouldn't stop it before it reached him, but then he'd have to hear him complain about poison in his hair and what it did to his senses for an hour or two.

"Hello, Sunny," Coco says, with a frown of irritation. He isn't fond of anyone breaking into his house when he's gone.

"It's not  _fair!_ " Sunny yowls, tossing his hair dramatically and burying his head in his hands. " _I'd_  go meet his fam'ly! And Toriko wouldn't care how ugly ev'rything no doubt is!"

Coco's eyes narrow, hands briefly squeezing into fists. "I see," he says, giving Kiss a few more soothing pets before shooing her off so she'll go find some dinner for herself. "Komatsu wasn't with Toriko because he was visiting back home?"

"And Toriko was invited but he  _had_  to get disgustin' smile-peas instead! It's  _not fair_ , Coco."

"Of course it's fair," Coco says, acerbic, but he smacks the pan he pulled out onto the stove burner rather more loudly than is strictly necessary. "Toriko is Komatsu-kun's partner. They spend a lot of time together. When I asked Toriko about his birthday, he wasn't interested in celebrating it. I think he's happy with a mostly working relationship," Coco says.

"Toriko is so  _stupid!_  It's hideous," Sunny sniffs.

"But Komatsu-kun is  _his_  partner." Coco pours soup stock into the pan, poking at it irritatedly with a spoon. "If he doesn't care about Komatsu's birthday, or his age, or his family, or his apartment, it shouldn't have anything to do with us. And Komatsu-kun seems very happy working with Toriko."

"Then 'Matsu's stupid," Sunny mutters, crossing his arms. "...Toriko's never even seen his apartment?"

"Komatsu-kun told me. He invited me over, but I think... I think he doesn't realize that we'd want to be invited. It's a little small, somewhat plain." Sunny makes an anguished noise, presumably at Komatsu in substandard conditions. "...Toriko probably has no interest in seeing the place."

"I hate the big oaf," Sunny announces, eyes shut tight and an expression on his face that Coco normally associates with someone suffering a migraine. "Coco—"

"I know," Coco says shortly.

There is a brief pause. Coco's stock comes to a boil, so he adds scallions, a little tofu, fish sauce. Plain, reasonably edible food, the limit of his abilities.

"And have you seen how 'Matsu holds onto him?" Sunny says suddenly, envy clear in his voice. "I don't know how he resists."

"They're just partners," Coco replies, sighing again, dishing up two bowls, even if it's been years since Sunny's been willing to eat his cooking.

"Which is compl'tly not fair!" Sunny cries, throwing up his arms in despair. Absentmindedly, he takes the bowl of soup, and Coco arches an eyebrow in surprise but stays silent as Sunny tastes it and doesn't immediately push it away.

"So ask him out," Coco says quietly, staring at his soup like it will reveal the secrets of the future that even Coco can't see, the answer to all life's problems. "On a date, in a way that he can't misinterpret. There's more than one type of partner."

"Coco," Sunny says, sounding surprised, and Coco guiltily raises his eyes to meet Sunny's. They are surprisingly close; Sunny has moved closer to him. "Why haven't  _you_  done that?"

"The last time someone kissed me, they were trying to get a saliva sample," Coco says vaguely, shifting little pieces of scallion around in his soup.

Sunny kisses him, the gentle but implacable grip of his hairs moving his head up and Sunny's arms going around his bare neck, Sunny demanding and enthusiastic and completely unrestrained as his soft lips press uncomplainingly into Coco's slightly chapped ones, as he nips gently at one lip and then licks into Coco's open mouth, sighing into the kiss when Coco hesitantly kisses back before pulling smugly away.

"Now you don't have an excuse," Sunny says breathlessly, licking his lips.

"Sunny!"

"He's already turned me down once," Sunny says, definitely pouting again.

"I simply haven't given him the opportunity." Coco's smile is perhaps a bit grim.

"...That bast'rd Zebra will want to ask too," Sunny admits, making Coco's eyes widen a little bit with clear surprise. If Sunny is considering  _Zebra's_  feelings, things have to have changed a lot, and Sunny has to be very serious. No wonder he's dragging his feet. Coco understands: there is so much to lose. And not the slightest indication that Komatsu's anything more than friendly and physically demonstrative. "If he can see it even though he's so hid'eous, I don't know why Toriko can't."

"Toriko's just happy with his partnership," Coco repeats, finally taking a spoonful of soup. He tries not to think about how he isn't sure if that's true. It's just his own feelings, getting out of hand. "Don't tell me you wouldn't be happy with Komatsu as your partner."

Sunny sighs like a teenaged girl, only infinitely more dangerous: hard to forget when Coco can see the gleaming threads of his power, invisible to anyone with lesser—with normal—vision. "But it wouldn't stop me from wanting more."

There's a period of silence as they both eat their soup. There isn't anything to say in response to that, because it's  _true_  for both of them. Technically speaking, Coco thinks, guiltily, friendship alone should be more than enough for him. What Komatsu already gives him is more than he'd ever thought possible. It is  _already_  extraordinary. Asking for more is greedy.

Since when are any of them ever content with the bare minimum? Or even more than that. Even if he hides it better than some of the others.

"So, then," Coco says finally, laying his spoon down. It clinks loudly in the somewhat oppressive silence, he thinks, in such a way that it seems like a bad omen. "What are you proposing, Sunny?"

"You're the one with all the ideas," Sunny tells him, but it's just him being catty because he's stalling, or thinking, or has nothing better to say. "Ask him out... It won't work. It would be terr'bly unbeautiful. It's a horrendous idea, Coco!"

"I don't know why you bother asking me for advice, sometimes," Coco says, deceptively mild, his own ire rising steadily. Sunny has a gift when it comes to irritating others.

"Not like that," Sunny says, which is... unexpected. It's almost an apology. "The whole situ'ation, is wrong. That's it. 'Matsu isn't supposed to  _choose_."

"It's a moot point, who he chooses, if he's interested in any of us at all," Coco says, sick to his stomach. Komatsu won't choose, he knows that, or thinks he knows, if it came down to picking one of them and hurting the other—two, because Zebra would care, very much, but Toriko won't. Toriko has his partner, and that is apparently sufficient. "It would probably be Toriko if it was anyone. Or he's got his eye on another chef, or maybe someone else—a gourmand. A librarian with good taste. We're all assuming he's interested in men."

"He  _touches_  me all the time!" Sunny insists, like it means something, and Coco swallows another mouthful of broth because it means a lot to him, too, but he knows it shouldn't. "Nothing else works right. It's got to be all three."

Coco chokes on his mouthful and spends a minute coughing, while Sunny pounds him energetically on the back—it isn't actually helpful, but he can't exactly say anything. And it's harder to ward off a tangle of hairs than someone's arm.

"I think you need to ask Komatsu-kun first before you decide something like that!"

"Well, of course we'll  _ask_  him. I'm not unci'villized, Coco. Quite the opposite." He preens again, although there are undertones of nervousness to his posturing. Of  _course_  there are undertones, and nerves, Coco thinks. With that sort of suggestion...!

"And how will Zebra react to your... idea?" Coco says, mildly. As calmly as he's able. "Or you, for that matter, when you're both sharing more of Komatsu-kun's time?"

"It will work," Sunny says casually, with a dismissive flick of his fingers. Coco can feel an oncoming headache, and he stands to pour himself a glass of water. Sunny follows, crowding behind him at the sink. Still shorter than him, but he's making up the difference by hovering. Of course.

"You say that now," Coco says, tightly. "What about when Zebra's eaten all the food and he's poured your hair treatment down the sink to goad you into fighting? What about when Komatsu doesn't want to move and you have to spend time in his apartment? Or me, Sunny. What happens when I start irritating you again?"

"Can we work through it?" For once, it's a real question. Sunny's voice is... plaintive. It's like a slap in the face, and it brings up a lot of old hurt.

"We didn't," Coco says.

"'Matsu will make it work."

"He can't work miracles."

"Yes he can! Coco, you  _know_  him."

"...Okay, yes he can," Coco relents, turning to face Sunny, eye-to-eye—even if he has to look up a little, with Sunny's current position. Petty power games, part of him thinks, but Sunny looks anguished, and it makes him human in a way he usually isn't. "But whatever miracles Komatsu-kun works, we can't give him the burden of us—"

"What if he  _wants us_ , Coco?"

"There's no way—"

"You're the one not even giving him a chance to try!"

"But  _all three?_ There's no one that open-minded in the world, Sunny!" It's honestly upsetting him, Coco realizes, and he has to force his poison down, another shameful reminder of how inhuman he is, and how no human should act. He doesn't even  _want_  to hurt Sunny, not seriously.

"But I won't ever capit'ulate, and neither will Zebra, the brute. And 'Matsu won't  _let_  you give up. You know that. Can you imagine him letting you hold yourself back?"

He can't, actually. But he won't say that. "It's different when it's his affections!"

"So he'll say no. And you'll keep snatchin' glances at him, and I'll taste him whenever I can, and Zebra can—can listen to his heartbeat. And he'll keep  _touching us._ "

"It can't be that simple."

"There's nothing to lose!" Sunny says, laughing, and his laugh isn't quite bitter, but it's full of something like desperation, except that it isn't desperate. Just a man following the one open path he sees, and damn the consequences, because the reward will be worth it, if he makes it. The sort of attitude a bishokuya needs, of course, that special sort of insanity.

"Thank you, Sunny," Coco manages, and shakes his head, gripping the counter to keep his fingers from trembling. But behind him, Sunny has a little panic in his eyes, so that's okay.

"...Now you just need to dis'cuss matters with Zebra," Sunny says eventually. Coco can't hold back his groan, part sheer exhaustion and part preemptive frustration.

"I'd make you come with me, but then we'd all die," Coco mutters.

"You'll do great!"

"Sunny, I'm five minutes away from kicking you out of my house."

"But you won't," Sunny said, and for once it's true. So instead Coco makes tea, and brings out some of the cookies Komatsu had sent him home with, and they chat about their lives, casual and somewhat silly details that are firmly safe. And if nothing else, Coco thinks, at least Komatsu has given them this. Because it's been years since he's talked to Sunny so companionably. Not to mention that kiss.

* * *

They find each other more-or-less simultaneously at the River Gourmet, where they've quickly outsped most of the small fry gathering Emerald Cress. People don't hire the four kings for class 2 ingredients, but the area makes for a neutral meeting spot somewhere in-between their real jobs, and as they go further upstream, into the wilderness, there's always a chance of biscuitpigs.

"Coco!" Sunny calls out, imperiously, as he's turning, and he's surprised how readily he smiles. And even more surprised when he steps forward to hug Sunny, automatically, not really thinking, and he threatens to break out in a nervous sweat for a few heartwrenching seconds before Sunny is hugging him back.

"Hey," Zebra sort of mutters, coming up next to them, remarkably quiet when he wants to be, and Coco turns and open his arms automatically, then starts to drop them because that's stupid. This is Zebra. Who glares at him—Coco refuses to be intimidated, if nothing else—before looking away,  _blushing_  of all things, and quickly squeezing him up into a rough hug, giving Coco just enough time to return the gesture (or attempt to; against Zebra, he's as small as Komatsu is compared to him) before he's dropped roughly back to the ground. Coco smiles even wider, and Zebra smiles back, which looks—kind of horrible, but that is what it is. Not every smile had to be Zebra emphasizing or showing off or rubbing in the nightmarish configuration of his face, Coco realizes, feeling oddly guilty. Of course, sometimes it absolutely is Zebra relishing the fear he inspires. But that didn't prevent an honest smile.

Zebra and Sunny are staring at each other, though, and any pleased surprise is replaced with a sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach, like going down an elevator.

"You are as unlov'ly as always," Sunny says airily, and Zebra growls. They stare each other down. Coco muffles a sigh, and the unexpected disappointment, because he knew going into this whole ordeal just how dramatically everything was likely to fail.

Zebra opens his arms. "You wouldn't dare," Sunny said, his own posture shifting, and Zebra hugs Sunny, ruffling his hair—or he tries to, but physically, Sunny is stronger, unless Zebra uses his voice, but that wouldn't be friendly at all.

Sunny squeaks.

"You horrible thing!" Sunny snaps, and throws himself at Zebra, arms around his neck, either strangling him or showing affection. It's surprisingly friendly. It  _is_  friendly, maybe more than that, Coco thinks, and blinks several times in a poor attempt to get over his surprise.

It's a good way for them to compete. Taking out aggression by—whatever it is they're doing, play-fighting or aggressively hugging—is almost well-adjusted. The surprise of that tingles in his veins. It's a gift.

No matter how poorly this goes, he owes Komatsu something nice. Maybe a vacation at the Gourmet Hot Spring. Although he supposes that that could get...misinterpreted.

What if Komatsu's unnerved by them, once they start showing their interest in him? It's one thing to spend time with an ill-mannered lot of top-tier predators barely disguised under a thin veneer of civility, but it would be another thing in entirely to have them—to have them paying you court. As a group.

Is Coco really so far gone that he's truly considering this? So much for being a gentleman. He's as human as any of the others, but that doesn't go far. He is no more human than any of them, either.

"Stop sulking," Zebra snarls at him, attempting to collar him—at least it's easy to dodge, he sees him coming.

"I'm not sulking," he protests, but neither of the other two are listening. Something about who can catch the most fish the fastest, with Sunny suddenly protesting because Zebra's version of fishing tends to be rather disruptive. Zebra has a smirk lingering that might be because he's found a valid excuse for more disastrous mischief, or because he likes making Sunny yell until his voice breaks deep, a dramatic change from his usual pleasant tenor.

In the end, they end up settled on the bank of the river, Zebra chewing his way through a couple of may-apple moose.

Coco braces himself, back straight and looking at his clasped hands and lips pressed tight because the crushing weight of what they're attempting—considering attempting—is pushing against him again, almost insurmountable. He breathes in, deep, evenly, and looks at the others—might as well get this over yet—only to find them looking at him, expectantly. He winces.

"Well? What the fuck is this about?"

"Sorry," Coco mutters, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, head bowed, eyes slipping closed. This was a terrible idea. He has no idea what he's thinking. There is  _no good answer._  He should never have—

"'Matsu!" Sunny says, like it's  _obvious,_  tossing his hair. Zebra—Coco turns to face him, out of some sort of morbid curiosity, this is a train wreck, he needs to learn to stop listening to Sunny—Zebra actually puts aside his meat—still dripping blood into the leaf litter around him, liberally spattered with viscera, stopping in a razor-edged line five feet from Sunny's seat on a convenient log, and Coco should have thought to put himself in-between them, even if—even if that wouldn't do anything. How is  _Zebra_  going to react to the idea that they—they share Komatsu? Or—approach him about it. Or attempt to seduce him as a  _group_. It sounds even more offensive, put like that.

"What about him?" Zebra says, eyes narrowing. "Why isn't Toriko here?"

Then Zebra turns to look at  _Coco_ , possibly because of a flare in temper—and intent—that he can't quite control. There's no reason for him to be so offended, he has no reason at all to think that Komatsu-kun himself is unsatisfied or worries  _at all_  about Toriko's relationship with him. But the whole thing looks wrong to Coco's eyes, and he's not used to seeing things incorrectly. Maybe he just doesn't have the whole picture yet. And he can be wrong—he's been wrong about Komatsu's future before, because he's still alive, despite everything that had happened in the cave, so early on, seeking out the puffer whale. Before Toriko had learned to keep careful watch of his partner, before they were even partners—what on Earth had possessed him, to bring a barely-known chef with no physical strength along with him in the first place? What about Komatsu first caught his eye?

"What?" Zebra asks, looking baffled. Then he smirks, eyes glittering, a predator's gleam, and Coco gets a sudden sinking feeling that's only partially precognition. "...You get turned down too, poison bastard?Heh."

"I haven't asked for Komatsu-kun's partnership," Coco grinds out, knuckles going white as he knots his hands together, staring at them like something will reveal itself to him. Some way out of this slow-burning disaster. "Because it would be  _inappropriate._  He's Toriko's partner and he seems—"

"But Toriko is an idiot! Obviousl'y, Coco," Sunny snaps, and Coco looks up, agreement written on his face despite his best intentions. It's true.

"Toriko just doesn't see Komatsu-kun as more than his partner—doesn't interpret that as more than a business relationship," Coco stresses, trying to convince himself as well. "No romantic interests, no desire to spend—social time with him, in a more casual environment, I suppose. He has no interest in details beyond the immediately applicable, but it shouldn't matter if he doesn't know what age Komatsu-kun is. I—"

"... **Seriously?** " Zebra roars, his decibel level just shy of damaging, every animal for miles fleeing away from him or flapping into the air or burrowing into the ground. Sunny stares for a second like the man's gone mad, which is—not all that far from the truth, maybe, certainly most of the human world considers him a rabid animal.

" _I_ know his fucking age," Zebra adds, at a more reasonable volume, although Coco's ears are still ringing slightly. "Even if I call him a fucking kid. Otherwise it could be  _weird_. You saying that that fucker Toriko—"

"No idea," Coco grits out. "He had no idea. He has no idea when Komatsu's birthday is. He has no plans to spend that day with Komatsu at all, actually, unless they're tracking down another ingredient."

"That really bothers you, Coco?" Sunny says, patting his shoulder companionably with an invisible bundle of his feelers, the give of them just slightly odd. It's a weird, friendly gesture, and it does settle Coco's mood somewhat.

"I—" Coco says, and breaks off, grasping for the words. "It doesn't seem right. Komatsu-kun seemed so happy to have me over, once he stopped worrying. ...I just can't imagine him happy with Toriko as a partner in only the strictest sense. It seems wrong. I want Komatsu-kun to be happy, more than anything else, and I—"

"So we called you," Sunny says, and tugs on Zebra's shirt sleeve without moving a muscle, until Zebra growls. Affectionate, Coco thinks, and for once that's not completely crazy. "Because—"

"...You're gonna kill that bastard Toriko?" Zebra says, sounding confused but also like he's serious. Coco chokes on a mouthful of water.

"No! That would make 'Matsu u'pset," Sunny says dismissively. "You have no  _finesse_ , Zebra. We're goin' to court 'Matsu, of course!"

"It's still a terrible idea," Coco says, but his voice is weak, and no one is listening. And it has far too much to do with how he's thought too long and too often about how nice it would be to take Komatsu out for dinner, the two of them, just to see Komatsu smile when he tried something new. Not even—necessarily—a date, although he would... He wouldn't say no to that. But he'll take whatever he can. Every smile he can get, and—

And even if this is something he  _wants_ , he can't go through with it, because it could bring this all crashing down—

"I can hear you thinking," Zebra growls, tossing a bone at him hard enough to jolt Coco out of his own thoughts. "Stop it, cocky bastard."

"Even you can't hear me thinking," Coco says, but it's just something to say. "...Well?"

"Well  _what_?" Zebra retorts, phrasing it like a threat, but he doesn't play dense for long, at least not now, at least not with them. Not talking about this. ...Okay, so the man was born difficult, and only got worse. But this is  _important_ , and maybe even he thinks that it all feels too fragile. "...Well, what the fuck do you mean, ' _we'_?"

"You asked 'Matsu 'bout partnering with your terrible disgustin' unrefined self, of course. Do you just want his food or do you want  _'Matsu_ , do you want him layin' in the grass under the sun and there are sorbet flowers all around you and shimmer peaches and you bend over him to feed him slices and he's smilin' up at you and his skin is supple and healthy und'rneath your fingers and you lean closer and he reaches up to pull you down..."

Sunny's gaze has gone unfocused, almost dreamy, his face softened, almost sweet. Coco and Zebra are staring at him; then simultaneously they glance at each other, unspoken communication. Sunny is  _smitten,_ Coco thinks. And he doesn't feel jealous.

"Fuck no," Zebra says, automatically. "...I'm gonna fucking steal my kisses from him until he challenges me back." Then he clears his throat, dropping his eyes like he's  _embarrassed_. It's fascinating, Coco thinks, and just slightly surprising, maybe even unnerving. But he can't ever remember Zebra liking anyone, at least—like that.

That leaves him. Coco straightens, tries to retain his dignity, and decides it's probably useless anyway. "I want to have dinner waiting for him when he gets back from a long shift at the restaurant, because he doesn't eat while he's cooking. Then I'd rub any stress out of his back while he talks about his successes and his frustrations, and then kiss him—" despite his best efforts, his voice breaks on the word  _kiss_ , and Coco clears his throat "—when the conversation's run down, and..."

"Yeah," Sunny says, husky-voiced.

"But he's Toriko's partner!" Zebra bellows, smacking a meaty hand against the ground with more force than is probably necessary.

"But like Coco poin'ed out," Sunny says, looking sly, suddenly, "'Matsu doesn't have a boyfriend."

"So we're  _competing_?" Zebra says, but despite his best efforts, he doesn't sound enthusiastic. He's not jumping on the chance to show up the others. He's holding back, Coco thinks, like a ray of light piercing through the darkness—nice, even if he has no need of light to see. He can still feel  _illuminated_.

"Uncult'red barbarian! That wouldn' be fair to our 'Matsu."

"He's not our anything," Coco says, uselessly. Sunny is ignoring him again.

"...We're goin' to court him all together," Sunny says, and smiles far too widely. And he looks so  _confident_. Even without Komatsu there, hugging them all and, and—reaching out to touch, casually, like no one else does to any of them. Sunny, above the rest of the world, Coco untouchable, Zebra a killer. Komatsu, though, so smiles so  _widely_  when he sees them, when they're together.

Coco can't figure out whether to suppress a smile, or sigh, and instead makes a small noise of what is probably confusion. And with Zebra, no use hoping that it went unheard; the most he can hope for is that it's uninteresting compared to the conversation.

Because they had just suggested that the three of them pursue the fourth King's partner. Collectively.

"All of us," Zebra says flatly, standing. He's huge, looming over them, startlingly so, Coco thinks, blocking out a significant portion of his light. "What kind of  _fucked-up idea is that_?"

"A terrible one," Coco sighs, which earns him an intensified glare from Zebra and a soft smack from Sunny, who—

Who hasn't made any moves to push Zebra away, to defend himself from him. Coco forces his own nerves down, exercising steely will. If Sunny can do this, so can he. Maybe Sunny knows Zebra better than Coco does, for all that they fight. Maybe because of it. Coco had never known his brothers as well as he'd thought.

"It is  _not_  ter'ible! Think, Zebra. Toriko is doin' a disgustin' job taking care of 'Matsu in all the ways that  _we_  want him, and 'Matsu won't leave his partner for one of us. Coco told me to start beaut'ifully courting him—"

"I didn't phrase it quite like that," Coco objects, but quietly. It's not really important.

"But that won't work, because  _he_  wants 'Matsu too, of course, Toriko's got'n him upset, because Toriko is being  _stupid_ , and it's ob'vious Coco wants 'Matsu and he's just too scared to ask—"

"Sunny!"

"...It just wouldn' work, Zebra. 'Matsu would hate the three of us fightin' over him, it would be horrific'ly unbeaut'ful, and you an' me won't back down, and Coco  _shouldn't._ "

"What makes you think I'd consider sharing?" Zebra growls, Coco shaking his head silently, to himself. Of course. One of the first glaring flaws in the plan, if you don't consider the plan itself the biggest problem. "Of course the kid'll pick me!"

"You're being stupid," Sunny says crisply, and for once Coco is forced to agree.

"...So how're we gonna do this?" Zebra says, sitting down again, closer to them, now, watching them with the sort of intensity he has that isn't quite a threat, isn't quite calculating—it's  _thoughtful_ , Coco thinks, memories echoing back, of the times when Zebra would watch them, more analytical than aggressive, and the expression hard to recognize on his face, considering his features, but unexpectedly at home.

"If you think I'm going to compete for Komatsu-kun's attentions with you, you're wrong," Coco says tartly, trying not to feel too bitter. There is  _no reason_  for it.

"Bastard," Zebra snaps. "How're  _we_  doing this? I'm not gonna do your work for you, you cocky asshole."

"What?" says Coco, eloquently. Sunny snickers to himself, wickedly amused.

"...And you're probably better at this. Shit like that." Zebra almost mumbles his words, which makes it even harder to hear, to understand. Because Zebra's not supposed to admit those sorts of things, and he's not... Not supposed to sound upset by it.

"I don't know why you'd think that," Coco blurts, honestly surprised. "I don't  _want_  the attention all those women give me! I've tried to make them stop, but it never works. I'm still a virgin!"

" _Seriously?_ " Sunny says, whipping around and eyes wide with surprise and maybe a little glee. Coco buries his head in his hands.

"I really shouldn't expose anyone to my bodily fluids," Coco whispers, just loud enough that the others can hear it.

Zebra's rough hand grips at the back of his neck, scarred-and-calloused palm shaking him with unexpected gentleness and care. No matter how rough the gesture should be, considering what it is, who it is. "I hate idiots even more than cockiness," Zebra says, and shuffles a little closer, invading Coco's personal space thoroughly.

"Yeah," Sunny says, his hairs squeezing them tight—not threatening, just warm—for a split second, smiling at them like they're something beautiful.

Maybe they really can do this, Coco thinks.

-End Chapter One-


	2. Just a Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I know it's been a very long time since I've updated. I'd like to thank most of you for your patience. I hope the next chapter proves worth the wait! Seriously, though—I write because I love writing, and I write fanfiction because I love the source material and because I love other fans, but feedback does a lot to make it worth it, for me. I adore getting reviews, I make the most ridiculous faces when I get compliments on my writing, and sometimes when I've had an especially terrible day, I go back and read the nice things people have said. I am so honored to have so many people read and enjoy my writing—thank you, every single one of you, commenters and non-commenters. Thank you! There have been a few exceptions to the over-all incredibly high quality of my reviewers, but for the most part, I have been really overwhelmed by all the amazing comments on my fic.

Komatsu had to admit that he'd been hoping that Toriko would show up, the week of his birthday—not _for_ his birthday, it wouldn't make sense to expect Toriko to rearrange his schedule. Especially when so much of it was decided by the weather, the time of year, the often unpredictable periods of time when certain ingredients became available or reached their peak. It didn't make sense, for something as silly as a birthday, but that hadn't stopped him from hoping that something would come up, that Toriko would show up that week, a smile on his face—always so happy to see him, Komatsu thought wistfully. His life had changed so much. Of course he still loved his restaurant, it still meant the world to him—but his world was a lot wider, too, now that there was the promise of the Gourmet World. And it _was_ a promise, he thought, elated. Toriko—and maybe, maybe, if he was very lucky, Coco and Sunny and Zebra, too, who were—they were so wonderful, even if he didn't really have any claim on them, even if they weren't his partners, he really did love adventuring with them, too, going out and—

He really could be kind of selfish. Spending time with Toriko-san was wonderful no matter when it happened, and wanting to celebrate his birthday that way was such a _silly_ conceit.

Komatsu had had a wonderful day at the Hotel Gourmet anyway. They'd been extra busy but not excessively so, a few scheduled dinner parties—the kitchen was still steamy despite the unseasonably chill weather for this late in the year. (Komatsu was vaguely aware that he payed far more attention to the weather than he used to—not to weather patterns, anything that could influence the ingredients available, but to the climate of his own environment. He spent a lot more time outside than he used to, and now he picked up on the state of the city trees, the slightly ragged city crows that reminded him, despite himself, of Kiss, and of Coco-san.) Now it was late, the windows open to let in a cool breeze to make the kitchen a tolerable temperature. All his chefs had gathered, Komatsu realized, smiling open-mouthed and with slight embarrassment at the crowd of people, there to celebrate his birthday. There was a table groaning under the weight of the food people had brought—mostly finger-food, simple fun stuff, an eclectic mix of dishes—little bites of the cured sausage he'd perfected with Gloria-kun, working late nights for a month; green omelets like they made every so often, a handful of times a year, when the staff stayed late to work on new recipes; the aggressive, bitter-sharp lemon tarts his pastry chef had made for him after being fired from her last job for getting pregnant out of wedlock, the intensity of the filling matched by heavenly pastry and the most delicate honey cream. It was overwhelming, and Komatsu felt himself tear up as he looked over the food: every dish on there had a story, one he knew, one he'd participated in.

“Thank you so much,” he said, smiling helplessly, and he burst into tears—still smiling—as everyone cheered. It was almost perfect.

Komatsu was busy tracking down people as he tasted their contributions when the knock on the door started, so he missed it, too busy thanking Emiko-chan, head chef at a cafe down the street, for bringing sandwiches filled with dry-cured purple ham, raised exclusively on acorn-fruit in wild fruit-oak forests, while she was too busy thanking him to listen, for the week she'd spent on his couch after trouble she'd had with her roommate. But he would never be distracted enough to miss the deep, commanding baritone of Zebra, lighting up as he snapped around, easy to see him towering over the rest of the kitchen—there was a brief spark of worry that the sudden appearance of the least-civilized of the Four Kings would start a stampede for the back door, but he was too busy running to meet him, huge smile on his face, to give it much thought.

“Zebra-san! Zebra-san it's so good to see you!”

“Yeah,” Zebra muttered, for his ears only, his incredible strength held completely in check as he circled Komatsu in his broad arms. His voice sounded warm, Komatsu thought, hands fisted in Zebra's shirt—he'd dressed up, for some reason, maybe he'd just been planning on dinner and his arrival was a coincidence? Komatsu hadn't told any of them his birthday except for Coco-san, he thought—and a few more tears leaking out.

There was silence and three meters of space around the two of them, a perfect cleared circle, when Komatsu looked up again, sliding down to the ground but keeping his hand in Zebra's for just a moment more, but nobody was screaming, and his own staff-members, at least, were slowly relaxing—or maybe just thinking about work, because they were looking back towards the kitchen—and that was important—

“Zebra-san, are you hungry?” Komatsu asked earnestly, tugging on his hand—not that it moved at all, but to get his attention. “Of course you are, I think—it might not be an organized meal like I would want to serve you, but I could start something quickly and—”

Zebra was staring at him like he was surprised. “Kid,” he began, but Komatsu was off and running.

“I'm glad you came! It's my birthday, but we haven't shut the kitchen down yet— I've been working on more meat dishes for you, Zebra-san, something more complicated than just roasting but suited to the strong gaminess of wild meat and—”

“Kid. Komatsu. Komatsu! I'm not makin' you cook for me at your own party,” Zebra growled, but he looked—well, he looked angry, but Komatsu thought that, just maybe, it was the embarrassed sort of angry he got sometimes when he didn't really mean it. Still. “I already ate.”

“Zebra-san, getting to cook for you is a wonderful birthday present,” Komatsu said, still smiling despite himself—it was maybe a strange thing to say, no matter how true it was, but he couldn't stop.

There was a pause, unexpectedly, Zebra-san looking at him and then looking at him _again_ , pinning him under his gaze, eyebrows furrowing even more and—

And Zebra-san started to laugh, a deep belly laugh, like he truly meant it, leaning back, his hair already starting to slip into disorder. “Zebra-san?” Komatsu asked, not sure, but he didn't get an answer. It didn't help that his sous chef was laughing somewhere behind him, that there was a small storm of giggles through their impromptu audience.

“Only you. Of fucking course,” Zebra told him, shaking his head, but he patted at Komatsu's shoulder as he said it, still so carefully gentle—he always was, with Komatsu—even if he tried to make it look rough, casual.

“Zebra-san can help finish off everything,” Komatsu's head waiter was saying, as the buzz of conversation slowly started up again. “Right, Komatsu-sensei?”

“Of course!” Komatsu said, brightening. “Zebra-san, come try Hideki-kun's concentrated puree of whispering figs—he figured out how to grow them on rooftops here in the city!--on cheesecake made from mini vanilla-cow milk—”

“Komatsu-kun, I had your help! I couldn't have done it if you hadn't suggested purifying spice-grass to provide clean air!”

Zebra chuckled, and Komatsu worried again—not because of the (slightly unnerving) sound of Zebra's laughter, but because he _wanted_ this to go right, he wanted it so badly—he wanted Zebra to enjoy himself, and he would absolutely not tolerate anyone speaking badly of his—his friend, he guessed, they weren't really partners. He was _Zebra_ , that was that. And almost everyone here had cooked or served him at least once, sometimes more often than that. He didn't want anyone to scream, or—or get cocky, or panic, or upset Zebra—

“I guess you're like that with everyone, kid,” Zebra said, his hand resting briefly against Komatsu's shoulder again, warm and rough and achingly _familiar_ through the fabric of Komatsu's shirt, and that was confusing, but it made Hideki-kun laugh this time, apparently _he_ understood, and Komatsu was too relieved to worry about it.

“Zebra-san?” Komatsu asked, but he wouldn't say anything to clarify.

After that, it was easier. Zebra-san settled in at a deserted table, apparently content to accept any plates of food sent his way—which were plentiful, more than enough food to feed a normal human for a week, but moderate when you considered Zebra's metabolism. It wasn't perfect, and Komatsu felt bad for those bringing food—but he hadn't been allowed to do so, and even Zebra-san had pushed him to go greet Tilda-kun and Ray-kun's new baby, in his own rough way, and of course then he had to start talking about first foods and nutrition, and what Tilda-kun was eating to provide high-nutrient milk, and from there Sergio-san was there to offer his congratulations, so proud of Komatsu for having come so far since he'd interned in his kitchen. It was almost overwhelming.

Almost overwhelming, which maybe explained how Komatsu missed Coco-san's arrival, until the man cleared his throat, hiding a smile behind his hand when Komatsu turned and, unexpected pleasure rising in his stomach, looked up to meet his face. And Coco's smile widened as Komatsu _beamed_ , throwing himself at his legs in a wild hug that—was probably too undignified, just like ignoring him had been, but Coco hugging him back without a moment's hesitation was worth _everything_. “Coco-san! Coco-san, I'm so glad you're here—”

“Komatsu-kun, happy birthday!” Coco said, almost laughing, his face lit up with happiness, so surprising and—and beautiful, Komatsu thought, staring up as he refused to relinquish his grip on the other man, maintaining the hug—Coco-san was hugging him back—and trying to memorize the complete lack of self-consciousness in Coco's expression. He needed to smile like that more often, Komatsu thought, and squeezed tight before releasing him. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings, Komatsu-kun,” Coco added, lightly, that little tilt to his lips that Komatsu had learned to recognize, and Komatsu laughed.

“I'm sorry I didn't notice you, Coco-san! Please, be welcome—let me get you something to eat—I'm so glad to see you! You _and_ Zebra-san, it's a surprise—a wonderful surprise!” Komatsu said hastily, as Coco's face started to close off again, a sudden look of concern. Of course he would worry about dropping in unannounced, Komatsu thought. “I'm just—overwhelmed, it's so good to have you here—Coco-san, did you come here for my birthday?” He was honestly confused, even over the insistent pleasure, lodged in his heart, that was two unexpected visits from these men, who were so extraordinary and so _good_.

“...Komatsu-kun, do you really mean it?” Coco asked, looking just as taken aback, and he could only nod in response, confused.

In the corner, Zebra began to laugh again, making Koro-chan jump and edge away, but he wasn't paying any attention to her.

“Komatsu-sensei,” someone sighed over his shoulder.

“Your birthday was on the news today,” Coco-san offered, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing just lightly, his eyes crinkled in not-quite-hidden amusement. “You are a world-famous chef, Komatsu-kun!”

“You _saved_ the world, of course everyone pays attention,” Sawa-kun muttered, and Komatsu blinked.

“...Really?” he asked.

“Really!” Zebra barked, and most of the room was startled, Komatsu knew, but it just felt—comfortable, now, to know that Zebra was a part of all of his conversations, whenever he was around. His hearing was just another part of him. And _he_ was (mostly) comfortable.

“...I guess that explains it,” Komatsu said, and he couldn't stop smiling. “Thank you so much for visiting me!” he added, and Coco smiled back, reaching out to squeeze his hand. That was comfortable, too.

Coco settled in, shyer with strangers—if that was the word for it; it was far too blushing a word to describe solid, quietly fierce Coco, who was more reserved—than Komatsu was really used to. They ate, they talked, Komatsu a little guilty that he wanted to spend all his time catching up with Coco and Zebra when there were so many people here to see him—he felt so lucky. It was a little overwhelming.

Everything was starting to wind down, Komatsu smothering some yawns of his own as he greeted departing guests at the door, when Sunny put in an appearance, Komatsu blinking once, twice in surprise, not expecting him, but that was Sunny, no one else, sweeping down the hallway, pausing for just a second—posing—before he sped up, just shy of undignified, and it was _Sunny_ who reached out to yank Komatsu into a hug, pulling him close and dropping down to his knees—or not quite his knees, apparently hovering a few centimeters above the floor, sparing his clothes, Komatsu could see, before he buried his face in Sunny's shoulder and clung. “Sunny-san, it's really you! It's so good to see you!”

“'Matsu,” Sunny said, sounding so happy that it made Komatsu tear up again. “It's disgustin' to cry like that,” he added, but he only curled Komatsu closer, his arms loose but Komatsu completely supported by the network of sensors he was wrapped in. He wondered why Sunny would bother to kneel, when it would be just as easy—easier—to lift him up to his height, then pushed the thought aside.

“Sorry,” Komatsu told him, a little wetly, but it was obvious he didn't really mean it. He smiled, wide, thrilled to have Sunny there—hoping that Zebra wouldn't mind, regretful that there wasn't more food left, but ultimately, he was just so happy to have Sunny there. Had he really—had all three of them really—come this far just to see him on his birthday? “I'll try to be more beautiful, Sunny-san!”

Sunny laughed, but it wasn't _mean_ —Komatsu got the joke, certainly, and laughed along. And wiped away the last of his tears on his sleeves, dotting the pale pink fabric darker, still unable to tear his eyes off of Sunny's familiar face—familiar, but it was so good to have him _there_. So good to have him close, so close that he could feel him breathing, anchored in Sunny's grasp and held like he was something precious. His hand curled to cling to a fold of Sunny's sleeve, before Komatsu made himself relax, fingers smoothing out the fabric before it could wrinkle, Sunny's eyes fluttering closed and his smile deepening for a second, and Komatsu felt himself relax as well, despite himself, so finely attuned to Sunny, who had saved his life and kept him safe, who—threw fits and fussed and was, ultimately, really, truly that beautiful, but he was hugging Komatsu anyway, solid muscle and elegant, refined grace and, underpinning it all, implacable strength.

“You're not dressed up at _all_ ,” Sunny told him, with a quick frown of disapproval. “It's your birthday, 'Matsu!”

“We can't close the kitchen just because of my birthday!” Komatsu said, just faintly reproachful. “I'm gone so often that I try to be at the Hotel Gourmet whenever I can, too. And especially for my birthday—where else would I be? Unless I was out with Toriko,” he added, with an increasingly-selfish surge of disappointment in his stomach, mixed with guilt. He'd had so many people come to see him—he'd spent his birthday with his friends, chefs he'd mentored, his ever-supporting staff, in _his_ six-star restaurant—not that he owned it, but he was head chef. He'd come further than he'd ever dared to hope, certainly farther than he'd expected. _Three_ of the Four Kings had come, which was an incredible, amazing, overwhelming gift in and of itself—not because of their fame, but because he _knew_ them, he was lucky enough to know them, and they were so extraordinary. Not just for what they could do, but for who they were. He squeezed Sunny even tighter, gratified when there was, in return, a minute tightening of Sunny's arms, his hair falling around them as Sunny tilted his head forward, eyes closed—not that he was blind, like that—and his breath a puff of warm air against Komatsu's forehead as he sighed, just faintly, like he'd been waiting for this.

Although when he looked up again, there was a slight tightness around Sunny's eyes, an angle in the fine muscles of his jaw, that implied unhappiness—not the almost-exaggerated irritation that Sunny was prone to, although Komatsu did check quickly for any stains or drips on his clothes that might have transferred. He didn't think it was because of him.

“Sunny-san?”

“It's nothin', 'Matsu,” Sunny told him, smiling again and pulling the silky curtain of his hair over his shoulder, the cool, heavy weight of it moving although his hands stayed around the chef.

Komatsu would take his word for it. “But—thinking of cooking, Sunny-san—what do you want to eat? It's late, you must be tired and hungry—light supper dishes? I have some spring-of-life mushrooms—I've been saving those for you, Sunny-san!”

Sunny smiled, looking—surprised, and flattered, suddenly younger—before he frowned, not so much upset as confused. “...'Matsu, it's early mor'ning at your birthday party.”

“But I think everyone's going home, so I'll have time to cook! The kitchen's free—”

Zebra laughed, surprising Komatsu into turning to look, Sunny setting him down as he stood himself in a smooth ripple of muscle, leaving Komatsu to turn, although he stayed close enough for them to brush against each other, Sunny's side and Komatsu's shoulder—and there was another flush of pleasure at having them there, having them _all_ there—except for Toriko—followed by a sudden stab of worry, because he... didn't think that Zebra-san and Sunny-san got along. (He wanted them to.)

“Damn kid tried that with all of us. I think he's getting cocky,” Zebra said, a smirk on his face, and Komatsu flapped his hands in protest, not really meaning it—not any more than Zebra did—suddenly hopeful, if confused.

“Tried what? Zebra-san—Sunny-san!”

“I'm not so disgustin'ly ungraceful as to make you cook for me on your own _birthday_ ,” Sunny sniffed, looking insulted, folding his arms. “I'm not _Zebra_.”

“Hey,” Zebra growled, eyes darkening, a hint of threat growing in the hallway.

“Zebra-san wouldn't let me cook for him either,” Komatsu said, disappointed. “But at least he had food brought from the party! —Anyway, neither of you are listening. _Or_ Coco-san. Cooking for you is—it's wonderful, I don't get to often enough! For Toriko-san, either—especially not in a real kitchen.”

“There's no food left,” Zebra added, with a smirk aimed at Sunny, who pouted. But there wasn't any increase of tension, no atmosphere of intimidation, Komatsu realized, relaxing himself. It always felt more—more _obvious_ when the Kings were trying to be intimidating, when it happened in his restaurant, maybe because there were no monsters there to need scaring away, or because it was so familiar in a—a different way, to Komatsu.

Komatsu suspected it was true, though it was just— _wrong_ , to have a guest, any sort of guest but especially one of the Kings, and not feed them. “I'll make us all something,” he said, firmly, ready to dig in his heels if one of the Kings complained—they'd need to physically restrain him if they didn't want him to, and he didn't think they would. At least, probably not. “It's not even my birthday any more!” And it wasn't—they'd entered the wee hours of the morning.

“Happy birthday anyway, 'Matsu,” Sunny told him, brushing fingers against his face—although Komatsu had a strong suspicion that there was more involved than fingers. Maybe it was strange to have Sunny “licking” his face, but—but it was Sunny. That was more than enough for Komatsu.

“You really came for my birthday?” Komatsu asked, sounding doubtful—it seemed so ridiculous! Even—even Toriko-san hadn't come out, which was really what he'd _expected_. That the other three would hadn't really crossed his mind, not seriously. He hadn't really expected _anything_ , although usually the staff baked him a cake, despite his protests. He'd always thought it was a good excuse to eat cake, show off for the other chefs.

“Of co'rse,” Sunny said, heading for the dining room, towards Zebra, Komatsu falling into step beside him. It was nice of him to check his pace, Komatsu thought. But Zebra didn't stand aside as they approached each other, Sunny not slowing until he was chest-to-chest with him, face-to-face, aggressively close. They stared at each other, before Sunny slowly smiled and leaned in to hug Zebra—although his expression wasn't really happy—it was happy, but it wasn't uncomplicated, it was still somehow competitive. Zebra was still as a stone, for too long, not returning the embrace—before he suddenly wrapped his arms around Sunny in turn, returning the embrace before he pushed Sunny away—before Sunny let him push him away, Komatsu thought. He smiled at both of them, a little confused, but also _happy_.

“Coco's already here,” Zebra added, shouldering open the door a little roughly—but standing there to hold it open for Komatsu and Sunny. “You're late, damn cocky bastard!”

“There was a hor'rific mistake,” Sunny informed them. “And my transportation was not at all beautiful. _Not_ as I specified. I had to wait for the next Gourmet Train.”

“I'm sorry you got here so late!” Komatsu said. “You must be tired—oh! Do you all have a place to stay?”

The last few chefs were finishing clean-up in the kitchen, yawning over the last of the dishes, enough to make Komatsu try to cover a yawn of his own. Coco was still settled in the corner, and Komatsu frowned.

“Sawa-kun, everyone—thank you so much for the party. Thank you! Don't worry about closing—I'll be here a little longer. Good night!”

“Good-night, Komatsu-sensei,” Sawa told him. “Don't stay up too late! You've probably got a big trip tomorrow?”

“Huh?” Komatsu said, blinking at his sous chef in confusion.

Zebra growled, stepping forward and suddenly _threatening_ , and Sawa-kun quailed.

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to presume! I—I—”

“Zebra-san?” Komatsu asked, mystified.

“It looks like we were beaten,” Coco said, with a slightly rueful smile, standing to join the cluster of people—Komatsu in-between Sunny and Zebra, tiny compared to them, facing Sawa. “Komatsu-kun—this wasn't how I'd planned on doing this, but,” he smiled, another slight nod to his precognition, Komatsu thought, “I suppose it will have to do. Komatsu-kun we'd like to invite you on a trip. With the three of us,” he clarified, and Komatsu looked from his face—Coco, blank and cool but hopeful underneath it—to Sunny's, who'd gone unexpectedly sweet and open, apparently unaware of his expression entirely, then to Zebra, who was almost savage in his intensity—and answered without thinking, throwing himself at Zebra, who was closest—he reached out automatically to catch the chef, although Sunny's hairs had already supported him.

“Really? Of course! Zebra-san, Coco-san, Sunny-san! Thank you so much! You didn't need to—”

“Of course we fucking didn't,” Zebra muttered, but he sounded pleased with himself. His wide grin certainly gave him away. Sunny wrapped his arms arund Komatsu from the other side, and Coco slipped closer to rest a hand against Komatsu's shoulder, until Sunny—grinning even wider, a little fiercer for a second—yanked him into the hug.

“—you didn't need to, having you here and getting to see you was enough of a gift! Thank you so much!”

Zebra released Komatsu first, apparently too aware still of their small audience—although another few chefs had slipped away.

“...Ah,” Komatsu added, deflating slightly, as he was released from their hug. “Sawa-kun—I know I'm scheduled for the next week, and I really—”

“We planned for you to be gone, Komatsu-sensei,” Sawa informed him, with another smile, growing with confidence, of a small, quiet sort, now that Zebra was apparently ignoring him. “Although we were expecting Toriko-san,” he added, more quietly, frowning just slightly.

There was a moment of quiet—Komatsu, at least, was aware of Zebra's temper rising again, his shoulders tight with unexplained tension.

“Toriko's in the Wastes of Gourmet, looking for herds of tuber swine underground,” Coco said, very carefully. When Komatsu looked up, he wasn't meeting his eyes.

“Toriko-san's very busy,” Komatsu said, haltingly.

This time it was Sunny who made a small noise of disgust.

“I didn't mean to imply—” Sawa said, or began to say, before falling silent. It took him two times swallowing, clearly dry-mouthed with fear, before he managed to begin again. “Komatsu-kun, happy birthday again! Enjoy your time off—good night, Coco-san, Sunny-san, Zebra-san.”

“Good night, Sawa-kun! Thank you again—would you pass on my thanks tomorrow?”

Then there was silence as Sawa departed.

“Right,” Komatsu said, turning his attention back to the issue at hand. “You must all be hungry! Something quick, I think—what do you want to eat, Coco-san?”

“No!” Coco said, looking incensed—but glaring at Sunny and Zebra in equal measure, not Komatsu. “Komatsu-kun—”

“Haven't you heard the kid? He _wants_ to cook for us,” Zebra snapped, voice raised just a little bit above his normal pitch, probably a warning, Komatsu thought.

“I do,” Komatsu added.

“I'm not gonna say no to that!” Zebra concluded. “ _You've_ had his cooking.”

“Komatsu-kun, you've been on your feet all day,” Coco said, looking concerned, addressing the chef and ignoring Zebra. “I heard from Sawa-kun that you came in half a shift early, worked until closing, and then there was the party—it's late, Komatsu-kun.”

Sunny shifted. “It's no good if you get disgustin' bags under your eyes from not sleeping, 'Matsu.” He shuddered dramatically to illustrate the horror of the situation. “And it's bad for your skin!”

“But I can't let you go hungry,” Komatsu said, still insistent. “And where are you going to stay tonight?”

“...Always worrying about us,” Coco said, and—and Komatsu knew how ridiculous it was, that he'd worry about Coco-san, or Zebra-san, or Sunny-san or even Toriko-san. But Coco was smiling, in the way he had that was extra special because it was so rare. “Komatsu-kun—we made reservations at the Hotel Gourmet for tonight.”

“Oh good!” Komatsu said, brightening. “So that's just cooking for me to do—and I have my own room reserved here, an empty office with a bed—they let me have it when I was working on the Century Soup. Once I fell asleep at the table over there, with my chopping board next to me! So they made sure I had a place to sleep those nights I didn't make it home. It's still set up, so don't worry about me.”

Coco looked very concerned.

“We said _no_ , don't get too cocky!” Zebra demanded, looking just as mulish as Komatsu felt.

“...What if we went out to eat,” Komatsu said finally, hoping that would be good enough. He really was exhausted, too tired to be fighting them about this. Now that the room was empty and they were talking about it, the ache of his shoulders and legs after a day full of chopping and standing was almost impossible to ignore, even with the Kings there. “There are some all-night stands down the street—”

Zebra shrugged, and Coco nodded almost eagerly, relaxing visibly and smiling. Komatsu turned to Sunny. —Sunny, who wasn't the sort to eat late-night fast food at all.

“Of co'rse,” Sunny said, gracefully, and Komatsu smiled at him like it was reflex.

“Maybe ordering in,” Coco said, a gentle suggestion. “Or I could go pick something up for us.”

Komatsu paused, confused, then— “Oh,” he said, simply. Zebra-san, of course, although that made him frown. It was _Zebra_ , Zebra-san wasn't—except he was, Komatsu guessed, it's just that nobody _knew_ him, which left him feeling slightly miserable, because Zebra was fierce and aggressive and also unexpectedly kind, moral in his own way, fiercely committed to his sense of justice— “I'd be happy to go get—”

“Komatsu-kun!” Coco protested, and Sunny started laughing, leaning against Coco.

“Give it up, Coco,” Sunny said, and Zebra laughed, too.

Coco smiled, wryly. “I have to go either way—it wouldn't be fair to ask you to carry food for all three of us, Komatsu-kun. Why don't you stay here?”

Komatsu folded his arms, frowning.

“You could make tea,” Coco suggested, appeasing, and that made Komatsu laugh, too, the others joining him. As tired as he was, Komatsu felt—amazing. As amazing as when he was cooking for the Kings, almost as amazing as when he'd figured out the secret of the ozone herb, him and Toriko-san, and Toriko-san had asked him to be his partner.

“If you insist,” Komatsu finally allowed. “I'll have tea waiting for you when you get back, Coco-san!”

The kitchen was pristine, but Komatsu still shuffled through the movements of checking for everything in its place, before he started a kettle, pulling out cups and fussing for a moment before picking an appropriate tea blend—something his guests would appreciate, his guests even if it wasn't in his home, it was still, in a way, his restaurant, and this was completely different from having them come for dinner—it was somewhere in-between. And he brought out a plate of tarts, leftovers that would otherwise be nibbled at by the first shift—not necessarily the best thing to serve before Coco returned, but all he had, and even Coco-san couldn't object to the amount of work involved.

When he turned, tray of tarts in one hand and tray of tea things in the other, which the sort of graceless balance he'd managed to learn—far more practical than beautiful—he found the trays whisked out of his hands, and he followed in their wake to the table, Sunny pointedly not making eye contact as they were set down on the table.

“Sit down,” Zebra demanded, and Komatsu complied, hopping up into a chair just a little too high, smiling at them as he poured the tea, passing their cups over. He breathed in the aromatic scent of his own cup gratefully, sitting back with a sigh.

“You've been w'rking too hard,” Sunny told him.

“I'm sure you've been working very hard too!” Komatsu said. “I know you have, Zebra-san. I'll have to work hard to keep up with you! To cook all the ingredients you find—or anything you want me to prepare,” he concluded, realizing a little belatedly that he shouldn't assume. They weren't his partners, after all.

And both of them were staring at him, sort of—oddly. Komatsu was used, more-or-less, to being the center of the Kings' attention, at least occasionally, but there was no good explanation for it now—no monster to defend him from, it wasn't very likely he was going to die, he wasn't cooking—and the tarts were good but not _that_ good.

“It's so exciting—I've had so many opportunities! All thanks to you,” he added, smiling, reaching out to pat Zebra's knee—it was so close, Zebra slouched back in his too-small chair, legs spread gracelessly, although he handled his cup of tea with care. Next, Komatsu decided, he would brew something different—black tea that would go with honey, instead of the more traditional green tea he'd used, a traditionalist at heart in his small ways, because the honey would be good for Zebra's throat—not that it needed looking after, not that _he_ needed looking over, and he didn't even really like sweet things, Komatsu was pretty sure, except as a source of energy to meet his incredible metabolic demands—but it wouldn't hurt.

He wasn't expecting Zebra's hand to fall heavily on his, startling and looking up—but Zebra didn't look angry, he wasn't even looking at Komatsu at all, instead pointedly staring away. Komatsu almost said something. Instead, he slowly relaxed again, leaving his hand where it was. Although...

“Zebra-san, please help yourself to the tarts! You too, Sunny-san—I don't have anything else to offer—”

“You don't need to give us anything,” Sunny said, his eyes lowered, too, and Komatsu blinked, confused, but—Sunny-san hadn't sounded happy, so Komatsu reached for him, too—and when Sunny took his hand, elegant fingers (his nails carefully filed, so unlike Komatsu's, kept extremely short for practicality and hygiene) limp and unresisting, Komatsu squeezed.

The look Sunny gave him was almost _grateful_ , but that didn't make any sense. “But you didn't need to get me anything, either! Thank you so much for taking me along on your trip—”

The _three_ of them, which sent a frisson of excitement down Komatsu's spine. Because if they could get along—if they could get along, then...

Maybe someday, the five of them could tackle the Gourmet World.

That was in the future, though, and for now, Komatsu would enjoy what he had, which was already—overwhelmingly wonderful. In his kitchen, on his birthday—even if it technically wasn't, anymore—in the restaurant where he worked as head chef, with two wonderful men—and a third coming back, so _concerned_ , so careful with Komatsu even when he didn't need to be, Coco-san just intrinsically conscientious, thoughtful—and his partner, and it was easier to not miss Toriko-san when Komatsu kept in mind that he was _his partner_ , fierce and wild and so, so careful with Komatsu, everything between them easy, comfortable, understood. Toriko-san, who was—beyond extraordinary, who'd given Komatsu so much, who'd helped him become so _strong_ , in his own way—who kept on increasing his own strength in leaps and bounds.

Everything Komatsu had. It was impossible not to feel incredibly rich, beyond lucky.

“Aren't you going to ask about our dest'nation?” Sunny asked, pointed but smiling. “Before you get too excit'd, 'Matsu, it's unbeautiful.”

“Just like me!” Komatsu pointed out, which made _Zebra_ laugh and Sunny scowl, Sunny pushing at Zebra, invisibly, not deigning to rise from his position, a careful study in artfully posed insouciance—terribly beautiful, of course. But it was Sunny-san,so of course it was.

The noise Zebra made in response was almost subsonic, heard more than felt, making Komatsu's chest vibrate oddly and a strange ripple pass across the tea in the cups—although not a drop splashed out. Still, it made Komatsu jump, yelping—out of surprise, not actual pain—as he banged his knee into the table. Only it didn't really hurt at all, because something—Sunny, Komatsu realized—had cushioned the impact. Nervous as he was about an actual fight breaking out—Zebra and Sunny were, they were extraordinary, but they didn't think about things like a normal person did, they didn't necessarily _realize_ what the consequences of their actions—not what the consequences were, but what they _meant_. And sometimes, Komatsu thought, feeling a little guilty for thinking it of two people who were—who were so important to him, maybe sometimes they didn't really think things through, Zebra-san and Sunny-san.

“Ca'ful,” Sunny said, with a graceful sneer, but the—gentleness with which he rearranged Komatsu and his chair, his inarguable strength feeling somehow not—dangerous, like it unarguably was, but instead oddly warm and fussy, the way that Sunny himself could be.

“Clumsy,” Zebra added, leaning close to flash an—amused, bloodthirsty—smile at Komatsu, who sighed.

“That shouldn't surprise you, Zebra-san,” Komatsu pointed out, blinking at him—maybe reproachful, but certainly not afraid, although he supposed it _was_ kind of odd that Zebra found it so funny, here in the Hotel Gourmet, that Komatsu was clumsy and usually unaware of his surroundings, at least if he wasn't in a kitchen. On their adventures, when it could lead to his death, it drove him crazy. Komatsu wondered if Zebra was keeping track of him the way he had in the past, when they were traveling, even if there was nothing here to harm him. No, he decided sleepily—that wouldn't make any sense. And he was getting tired, despite his excitement, despite his guests, which probably wasn't helping his coordination any. He blinked, and shook his head to try and shake out the tiredness, then reached for his tea again.

“...You can be beaut'ful, 'Matsu,” Sunny announced, suddenly, in a rush, looking up from the table, hair falling around his eyes.

“Ehh? Sunny-san!” Komatsu said, blinking at him in surprise. “Well—when I'm cooking, you said so. You don't have to try to be nice just for me!”

“Nice,” Sunny whispered, almost wordless, just shy of mouthing the word, eyes wide and—confused. Komatsu looked at him with concern.

“Sunny-san?”

“'Matsu,” Sunny said in reply, almost subdued.

“Sunny-san, is everything okay? Are you feeling alright?”

“The fuck is wrong with you,” Zebra added, rough but not looking at Sunny, not quite a question.

“Jus' because I'm not an uncouth b'rute excuse for a person!” Sunny sniffed.

“Sunny-san!” Komatsu said , hoping not to sound—not too disappointed. Because it was one of his silly, guilty wishes to go traveling with the Kings, and one of the ones so close that it was hard not to—believe it would really happen. Because it would!

It was just that they always _fought_. And he didn't...want to think that they were only tolerating this for Komatsu, which—which didn't make sense, he was just _himself_ , Coco-san might have tried to tell him he was special, but he wasn't, really, not particularly—but he wanted _them_ to enjoy themselves. Most of all. He tried really, really hard not to feel disappointed, he didn't want to do that to Sunny-san and Zebra-san and even Coco-san, who would have to come back to find Komatsu watching, useless, as the other two fought—

“The pretty-boy's not _nice_ ,” Zebra said, decisively, a smile on his lips—and maybe his face was naturally cruel, scarred and harsh—but the expression didn't really look like it. (And Komatsu didn't believe it. Never, ever.)

“Zebra-san! Sunny-san is nice—he's been very kind to me!” Komatsu said immediately, sitting bolt upright, amazed when he didn't spill the tea still in his hand. Maybe that was Sunny-san's influence again, wrapped up as he might be in protective hairs. (Although he wasn't sure if Sunny always held him that—that close. They were just in the Hotel Gourmet, after all, and Sunny-san didn't have to protect him here. That was really why he touched him all the time, after all—it had to be. After all, Komatsu wasn't some sort of delicious ingredient to be tasted and enjoyed!) “Sunny-san is nice to me even when he doesn't have to be—you're very nice to me, Sunny-san! Of _course_ you're kind. You told me I was beautiful when I was cooking, and I told you, Sunny-san, that it means just as much if not more to compliment my knife, or my dishes—because I am a chef. And I know what sort of person I am,” Komatsu added, slightly sheepish, rubbing a hand through his hair. Small fingers, delicate with ingredients, scarred; his face, his odd features, his practical, short hair; his stature, his build, his overreactions. “Sunny-san is—you're a wonderful person, you're so—so beautiful! And you still slow down to watch out for me and you've taken me to some beautiful places, Sunny-san, we've eaten wonderful meals together! You _are_ kind.”

Komatsu fell silent, blushing a little but determined anyway. It was easier to look at Zebra, first—Zebra-san, who was smiling like he really meant it. He lifted a huge, scarred hand and dropped it at the back of Komatsu's neck, a heavy, warm weight that Komatsu found somehow comforting.

Sunny-san looked _happy_ , or at least like—like there was happiness, too, so maybe everything would be okay.

“Just like you, Zebra-san, you've been so kind to me, too!” Komatsu added, and Zebra flinched—did he just startle him? Komatsu wondered.

“Zebra-san?”

“I don't fucking get it,” Zebra said, but he said it to Sunny-san, leaving Komatsu to blink at the two of them in blank confusion.

“Zebra-san—”

“Don't fucking think about it, kid,” Zebra told him, practically a warning, but his hands were so steady and warm against the bare skin of his neck. Maybe it should feel strange, but it just felt right, instead. And having Sunny there made it _better_ , Komatsu thought. Even if they did end up fighting.

“I don't un'erstand 'Matsu either,” Sunny said, his voice so lofty, but he was smiling wide—maybe more widely than Komatsu had ever seen him smile before, bafflingly—and he reached out one of his hands to touch Komatsu, the backs of his fingers fluttering almost—not quite—against Komatsu's cheek, the hairs at the back of his neck prickling. And then, more perfunctorily, he tapped his knuckles against Zebra's, Komatsu blinking—that hadn't looked aggressive—before glancing between their faces.

“I'm not hard to understand!” Komatsu protested, not sure—at all—what they were talking about. “Zebra-san, Sunny-san, are—Zebra-san, I'm not getting cocky! What do you _mean_?”

“ _Drop it,_ ” Zebra said, putting enough force into his voice that it covered up the noise of the door swinging open again—but not to Zebra, whose head snapped around to glare and—and maybe that was it, Komatsu thought, dazed, as Zebra's focus and anger and predator's attention centered on whoever was opening the door. It was a sudden reminder, demonstrating just how—relaxed?—Zebra had been before. How calm he'd been, comparatively—even with Sunny there.

“It's just me,” Coco said, from behind a small mountain of boxes, which let Komatsu relax some. “Zebra—are you being rude again?”

Zebra laughed, gleeful and rough-edged, and Sunny sighed, not quite rolling his eyes—no doubt actually doing so was far too ugly a behavior for him.

“O' course,” Sunny said, pointedly, Komatsu speaking with him simultaneously.

“Oh no! Zebra-san's not being rude! I guess I'm just confused. I'm—” he had to break off to cover a yawn “—not very good at remembering my manners, either,” Komatsu said, purposefully avoiding any mention of his exhaustion. It was probably obvious, but he didn't want to make any of them feel bad—Coco-san especially would worry if he thought Komatsu was pushing himself. That was part of Coco's own kindness.

Coco paused, looking at Komatsu, then slowly opened his mouth to speak, just slightly hesitant. “...Komatsu-kun, we've kept you up too late. I'm sorry; I'd like to apologize for my—for our—rudeness. This was meant as a gift, not to make you play host—”

“Don't start that again!” Komatsu blurted, as he hopped down to help Coco open up boxes, dishing out portions of food automatically. “Coco-san, I really mean it. I can always sleep later! Right now we should eat. Right? Sit down, Coco-san! Let me pour you tea—I hope you'll like it.”

“Of course,” Coco said, with a slight sigh of his own, but he smiled at Komatsu, not wide but soft and deep, when Komatsu looked at him in concern. He poured the tea quickly, fresh hot water, and some part of him relaxed with Coco as the other man smiled again at the fragrant steam, eyes fluttering closed for just a second—Coco was always vigilant, and to have him around and watching out, for Komatsu and for whatever dangers might be in sight, was always comforting. But it was good to have Coco-san relax, too. He deserved it—he was always so careful.

And with Coco's hands occupied, Komatsu could serve the others. He found himself automatically dividing the food—larger portions for Zebra, although all of the servings were huge, accounting for more-than-human metabolisms, but most of the soup for Coco, who could dehydrate so quickly if he needed to use his poison, and on one of their trips, it was good to plan ahead. Mostly vegetables for Sunny, and a large helping of the perfect-meal fish, delicious grilled but famous for their high vitamin contents, popular with students—and with chefs working late hours. He hoped that neither of the others—that Sunny—would see the extra for Zebra as favoritism, it wasn't about who got _more—_ he just wanted to feed them all, and he couldn't even really try. It was late, he was exhausted and glad to not be on his feet, he always wanted to cook but he'd also learned that sometimes it was a bad idea, and he still had the burn scars to prove it, if he ever felt like forgetting—

He looked up to find the three Kings watching him carefully, making him blink in surprise. Zebra was glowering, and even Coco looked upset.

“...Do you not like potato shrimp?” he asked, not sure what else it could be. They had their food, even Zebra still had multiple plates to work through, not his best presentation but reasonable, he'd tried his best for Sunny, and because of his pride as a chef—

There was a soft, unexpected huff of laughter from Coco, who was shaking his head. “Hah—Komatsu-kun! You need something to eat, too.”

“I'm fine,” Komatsu said immediately, because it was _true_ , digging in his heels. He was a little hungry, but not because he hadn't eaten—it was just his metabolism, kicking into high gear to keep him running despite exhaustion, the way it happened sometimes. He'd be fine, he'd eaten plenty.

“Bu' we want you _happy_ ,” Sunny said, plucking up a clean plate with invisible feelers and frowning at the already partitioned food with growing concern, eyes flipping between the choices. “'Matsu, what do you want to eat?”

“I had a lot to eat at the party earlier!” Komatsu pointed out brightly.

“What _do_ you like to eat, Komatsu-kun?” Coco muttered, mind apparently caught on the same problem as Sunny—what to serve him, as someone who lacked the appetite to eat, or even try to eat, everything. Which was the wrong problem! Komatsu thought. He was _fine—_

“I like everything, Coco-san! That's not the _point—_ I'm happy as things are,” he said, opening his mouth to continue arguing, before Zebra interrupted.

“Shut _up_ ,” Zebra said, anger and—something else pushing to the forefront of his voice. “You're getting cocky!”

“I am not,” Komatsu said, confused, but Coco was speaking. He fell silent, unwillingly.

“Komatsu-kun,” Coco said. “Please, have some dinner—it's late, I know it will be later still before we're all asleep. We're—happy, more than happy to share with you.”

Komatsu wavered, a slight frown on his face. Zebra had finished off another two plates of food.

“It's your birthday,” Coco added, into the deepening silence. “We're—Komatsu-kun, this is supposed to be a gift. Let us feed you dinner.”

“I just don't want any of you to go hungry!” Komatsu said suddenly, the words rushing out.

“'Matsu, don't be silly,” Sunny said, plucking him up—lifting him straight up in the air, all without ever leaving his own chair—and setting him down firmly, away from the food. He still looked upset. “Wha' do you want to eat?”

“I mean it when I said anything,” Komatsu conceded. “I like to try new things! I like to revisit old things. Food is precious—but the people you eat it with are important, too. Where and when you eat it.”

Sunny smiled at that. “You understand, 'Matsu! You have at leas' _some_ taste and refined sensibilities unlike these two crude an' rough—”

“Sunny,” Coco said, with a sigh.

“It's just damn _food_ , it doesn't matter what it looks like,” Zebra grumbled, but he didn't sound upset—not with Komatsu, at least.

Sunny looked aghast. Even Coco was shaking his head, but Zebra wasn't looking at them—he was looking at Komatsu. Komatsu smiled at him, and leaned forward. “Zebra-san, sharing a meal with _you_ makes it better—not just because of what it is, I know you don't really care what I cook but I try to cook foods that make you _happy_ , Zebra-san! I'm happy to—to eat with you. To share meals. I know tonight, everyone brought food for me, food with history, and that was wonderful. But eating here with you is making memories! So the—the next time I'm here late working on budgets with Manager-san, and we duck out for a late night meal, I'll remember dinner tonight.” He smiled, _beamed_ , unable to stop himself even if he wanted—the warmth of the whole evening was still thrumming over his skin, the pleasure in spending time with these three men, the _care_ they showed him. “I like to eat everything! I like to try everything. I like eating anything with _you_ ,” he finished, leaning forward in his seat, spine straight, bright with enough excitement to cut right through the tiredness. It was so true that he was helpless to keep from saying it—although he realized, abruptly, that it was probably a weird thing to say. Komatsu let himself sit back, relaxing.

His laugh wasn't even forced, as he rubbed a sheepish hand through his hair. “That probably didn't come out right,” he admitted, no matter how true it felt. When he looked, all three of them were staring at him: Coco-san, looking almost a little lost, face gone unexpectedly gentle with what looked like surprise, maybe; Sunny-san, face inscrutable, his long eyelashes accenting drooped lids, although there was far too much focused _awareness_ in his gaze for him to be sleepy, no matter that his eyes were half-closed; Zebra-san, who looked somewhere between angry and hurt, face shuttered and brows tightly furrowed—and that was the last straw. Komatsu's hands closed, and he knew he was blushing.

“Sorry, Coco-san, Sunny-san, Zebra-san! I don't mean to be too forward. I do mean that I don't have any preferences for food, though. Everything is worth trying once! —Wherever we're going, I'll be happy.”

“Even if you get hurt?” Zebra said, a rumbling hint of a growl in his voice. His eyes were distant, undecipherable.

“I'll do my best not to get hurt!” Komatsu told him, told them all. And added, because he was, really, in the end, not always very good at looking after himself. “And you look after me, too.”

“Always,” Coco told him, dead serious.

Komatsu looked at him, wide-eyed, then at the other three—they were all watching him with a sort of intensity that he'd gotten used to. Maybe it was predatory, but he never felt safer than with these men.

“Thank you,” he said, soft and _meaning it_. Not just for looking out for him—but for looking out for him so he _could_ do what he did—so he could go on adventures. It was for their care for him, for taking him into their world, for giving him new ingredients to discover, for being _companionship_ that had become far more important than his initial desire to see more of the world and the ingredients he worked with in the kitchen. He was growing as a chef, beyond his wildest dreams—world-renowned, a known name, in the top 100 rankings—and he had so much to thank them for—

He was getting teary-eyed, so he smiled even wider and wiped his eyes, to find the other three still staring at him.

“Ah—”

There was a blink of motion, slightly confusing—he was very tired—and Sunny was suddenly beside him, he'd vaulted _over_ the table, easy as thought, to pull him into a close hug—his arms, and the subtle pressure of his hairs, Komatsu's face pressed a little too hard against his fuchsia shirt, Sunny's cheek pressed against Komatsu's hair—it was confusing, but Komatsu wasn't ever going to turn down a hug from Sunny-san, who wasn't always approachable, so he wiggled out the arm trapped between his body and Sunny's muscled chest, and squeezed back, just as tight, even if he was at a disadvantage—not really capable of reaching all the way around the other man, and lacking Sunny's touch.

Komatsu hoped that Sunny wouldn't mind a few tear-marks on his clothes _too_ much.

Soft fabric, the smell of him—soft perfume, the sharp green smell of his shampoo, maybe a hint of fine ingredients that would be obvious to his partner—and feel of him, the waves of his hair, heavy and cool and enveloping, and his hands, one at the back of his neck, even his callouses soft with care. Familiar and still being learned.

When they pulled apart, slowly, Sunny not really letting go—he was coated in enough of Sunny's hairs to feel the slightest pressure, like the air was thicker than normal—he was surprised when Sunny looked at the others, just slightly guilty.

Zebra snorted, and Komatsu felt a moment of concern. But he just looked away, and Coco was smiling, so everything was going to be okay.

Coco pushed a plate of food towards Komatsu as Sunny took a seat in the nearest chair. He brushed against Zebra as he did, but Zebra did nothing to complain—that was nice, Komatsu thought. If they could keep their peace, even if they also bickered, maybe they really wouldn't mind taking him on a trip. He still—he still really _wanted_ to go to the Gourmet World with them, but the last time they'd all worked together, or tried to, had been... not what he'd wanted. Not at all. They'd all been there for the Madame Fish, in the end, but everything else had been—bad.

Even though they hadn't gone anywhere yet, even though they were just sitting in the otherwise-empty dining room of his restaurant, this felt a lot closer to what he'd been dreaming of. Although Toriko-san was absent. Still, he couldn't be disappointed about that—he was already being greedy.

“Eat, damn it!” Zebra told him, smacking a palm against the table for emphasis—but carefully enough not to damage it.

“Only if you don't want it,” Komatsu told him, dead stubborn, and he could almost hear Zebra's teeth gritting.

“I swear—eat the food or I'll shove it in your mouth for you,” Zebra muttered, almost to himself, before bringing his gaze down to meet Komatsu's eyes. “Tell ya what, kid—let's bargain. Eat your dinner and I'll let you cook me breakfast.”

“Okay!” Komatsu said, straightening. “But only if you help with the ingredients, Zebra-san. Then we'll have a deal.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? We've already got a deal for ingredients. If I bring them for you to cook, you're just filling your half of an old bargain, it can't count double.”

“Komatsu-kun, I'm sure your cooking is worth more than eating a meal that's offered to you—” Coco interjected, sounding confused.

“Zebra! We're having breakfast t'morrow at the Diner Gourmet Morning,” Sunny said, glaring. “Don't make 'Matsu workto feed your unbeaut'ful appetite.”

“He wants to,” Zebra muttered, simultaneous with Komatsu's own protest.

“Cooking for you is always wonderful!”

“We're going to treat you tomorrow,” Coco said, cutting in smoothly, always the voice of reason. “I'm sure there will be plenty of cooking before and after our arrival. We are here for your birthday, after all,” he added—still the voice of reason, Komatsu, thought, with a sleepy surge of contentment. He could sympathize, dealing with Toriko-san all the time—but at the same time, Komatsu was also often pretty unreasonable. “—Komatsu-kun, everyone else at your party brought food to share with you. Is—do you really object that much...?”

Komatsu sat bolt upright in sudden panic, because Coco-san was _troubled,_ he looked—he looked far too alone, and Komatsu never meant to do that to him, _never_ , because Coco-san was already so alone, when he didn't have to be, when he _shouldn't_ be, not if he didn't want it—and he didn't, really, he proved it every time he reached out, or acquiesced to Komatsu's touch, and, and—it had all gone wrong—

“No!” he blurted, reflexively. “It's not that, Coco-san! I just—” he looked down, fiddled with his sleeve, frowning at a faint stain on the fabric. “I really like cooking for you,” he repeated, because they weren't really _understanding_. “It's my half. I can't fight off high-level beasts, or scale mountains, or—anything like that, but I can cook—I can prepare special capture ingredients and cook meals while we're traveling, or—”

“You don't need to do anything,” Coco said quietly, and Komatsu fell immediately silent, because Coco-san had interrupted him. “Komatsu-kun, you don't— _need_ to. I'm not... We'd never ask you to earn your place, or—”

“It's not that, Coco-san!” Komatsu said, calming again. “I _want_ to give back to you—you've given me so much. All of you. I'm so lucky! You're just—I'm so glad to have you here.”

Zebra made an incoherent noise, something with a lot of tooth-grinding in it, and when Komatsu turned to look at him in surprise he stood, forcefully, his chair falling behind him with a loud thump—not broken, Komatsu thought. Zebra stomped a few feet away then stopped—Komatsu couldn't see his face.

“We just—match,” Komatsu said, trying again. “Coco-san—Sunny-san, Zebra-san—you know, I think we just fit together. But I'm being stubborn,” he admitted, which made Sunny-san laugh, at least, breaking him a little from his inscrutable solemnity, a little intimidating even now that Komatsu knew him as well as he did. “I _do_ love cooking for you. I—I love being able to give you that,” he admitted. “But it's a gift for me, too! I'm really glad to be with you. The greatest compliment is having you eat what I've cooked for you.” The 'for you' part was very important—they weren't _strangers_ , they weren't customers, and he cooked _for them,_ for the men who had come into his life and changed everything—who had made room in their strange, terrifying, wide and dangerous world, made room for _him_ , Komatsu, chef and not much else—who had opened up to him.

He realizes, too late, that it sounded a little too much like partnership, what he was talking about—but it wasn't like they hadn't all danced around it already, and he swallowed the small surge of not-quite-fear, but maybe embarrassment.

“Of course,” Coco murmured. He understood.

“'Matsu, we love it when you cook for us,” Sunny offered them, his face still soft as he looked down at his hands—or, no, his eyes were closed, Komatsu realized, as his curtains of hair shifted.

“And eat your damn food, we're...” Zebra trailed off, and then turned around, feet stomping heavily, and crossed his arms, glaring, a wall of muscle. “Taking care of you,” he finished, flushing just slightly—which made Komatsu blink, but then smile.

“Thank you!” he said, bowing slightly—just avoiding bonking his head in his enthusiasm—before turning back to the food. It was getting cold. “Zebra-san, you should finish eating—Sunny-san, Coco-san! I know it's getting late.”

“For you, too, 'Matsu—yawning is so unbeau'iful,” Sunny said. “An' bags under your eyes—” he broke off to shudder.

“I hope we're not leaving too early tomorrow?” Komatsu asked, despite himself.

“We don't have breakfast until ten,” Coco told him, kindly. “Have you been working yourself too hard again, Komatsu-kun?”

“Running a restaurant is a lot of work!” Komatsu said. “I do my best. It's just doing my part.”

“Eat your goddamn food,” Zebra rumbled again, prompting Komatsu to start moving again—he took some of his favorites, some new dishes he wanted to try—it was familiar cooking, Lulu-san and Shoyu-sensei and Addolorata-san and Beni-kun—just like so many other late nights, but with the promise of tomorrow a pleasant thrill along his nerves, and the company—well. He was with the Kings (three of the four) and so, so happy. His own portions were smallest, and when he noticed Coco looking, he met his eyes and almost dared him to say anything.

They ate in peaceful silence. And it was strange, to be eating _with_ them in his own restaurant, but it was also—nice. It was always nice to share a meal with friends. (Even if that word, friends, still felt—inadequate, for them. It had been the same way with Ume-chan and Take-chan—it had been, before. Of course, they really had been more than friends—but he was partners with Toriko, and he guessed that left him friends with Coco-san and Zebra-san and Sunny-san.)

Pleasantly full, his feet starting to ache with exhaustion, it became a true struggle to stay awake, his mind too fuzzy to concentrate on the flavor of his tea—or even the faces of his company, although all through dinner his eyes had flitted between them, half to make sure they had enough to eat, were happy, that he'd done all he could—his part of taking care of them, the way they took care of him.

When he looked up from his cup, blinking, he caught some sort of tension—Coco's eyes switching between Zebra and Sunny, a slight shrug from Zebra, a hint of a pout on Sunny's face. Wordless communication, Komatsu thought, and smiled, just a little—maybe a little bittersweet, but mostly hopeful—because he knew that was what they could be like when they fought, when they were on adventures, when they were shining the way they always did, only in conjunction with each other, complementary and cooperative—

“You should go to bed, Komatsu-kun,” Coco said—gently, almost, but—he sounded just slightly guilty, too, and Komatsu blinked at him, soft-eyed with sleepy exhaustion.

“I'm glad you got something to eat,” Komatsu told them all, stirring himself to action—hopping down to gather up the plates, stacking dishes efficiently.

“You're going to be all tired tomor'ow,” Sunny said, almost whining, as he stood with a smooth easy grace, hair falling back behind him, out of the way with no apparent movement on his part—it sent a flicker of happy familiarity through Komatsu—and then leaned over the table to grab emptied takeout containers, bundling them neatly to slide into a spare bag. “Just go to sleep, 'Matsu! You are being so _digustin'ly_ stubborn.”

“You can be stubborn too, Sunny-san!” Komatsu said, which made Zebra laugh—which made him laugh, just a little, and then some more when Sunny joined in, looking amused despite himself, a smile warring with disapproval on his face.

“Really, Komatsu-kun, I think that your staff could wash a few remaining dishes tomorrow—” Coco began, before breaking off as he looked at Komatsu's face, mule-stubborn and brow set, and sighing.

“Shirly'd be happy to wash your dishes,” Zebra announced, looking pissed off—the sort of irritated where he almost meant it, Komatsu thought, unsure about that even as he smiled at the unexpected pleasure of Zebra knowing his staff by name—caring enough to have met enough, remembered them, remembered that Shirly-chan was friendly and loved to help. It was—it was familiar, because his kitchen was, really, his kitchen in the Hotel Gourmet—it was more his home than his apartment, more home than the family home he'd grown up in.

Coco blinked at Zebra in surprise. “Shirly?” he asked.

Zebra shrugged, looking away, which made Sunny look up, confusion writ large upon his face.

“Shirly-chan wouldn't mind, so I try not to take advantage of her,” Komatsu pointed out.

“I'll do the dishes,” Coco said firmly, not looking at the others—meeting Komatsu's eyes squarely. “You should get some rest—you've had a longer day than any of us, I think, and it's a present for _you_. So please,” he said, swallowing nervously, blinking suddenly before continuing, his gaze sliding away, “Please let us do this for you, Komatsu-kun.”

“I'll help you, Coco,” Sunny said suddenly, voice tight and not looking at Komatsu, and Komatsu—couldn't picture Sunny with his hands in dishwater, which was rough on skin and left his own hands chapped year-round, couldn't picture him in his kitchen, or, or—Coco, collected and thoughtful and so elegant, restrained, understated—

But surely—surely—he knew these men, he knew that—that Coco needed to be reminded that he was safe, that he could be held, that he _deserved_ whatever touch he wanted, that he wasn't to be avoided just because sometimes, _sometimes_ , his touch was dangerous. He knew that they lived alone, that Coco, at least, had to do his own dishes, that they both cooked for themselves, at least sometimes—that Coco was a talented cook, if not a gifted one, experienced and methodical. They weren't—they weren't what everyone _thought_ they were. That was the most important part. He knew they were amazing, he _knew_ , he knew it down to his bones, and he would never, ever give them—any of them, Coco or Sunny or Zebra or Toriko—anything less than the respect they deserved it, but he knew _them_. He knew that Zebra was no monster, no more than any of the others, that _none_ of them were, he knew that they were amazing but they were human—Coco's moments of humor, his sleepy eyes in the morning, Sunny's overdone reactions, his tendency to be too grabby, his fundamental pleasure in everything he loved, his flashes of kindness—the kindness they _all_ showed him, because nobody thought of them as people who would take a friend, a normal, ordinary, every-day friend, on a birthday trip, just because—and he hadn't expected it, either, but it wasn't because he didn't _understand_ them. He did, just a little. He—he cooked for _them_. He knew them.

He would not do them the disservice of letting them be less than what they were—he wouldn't be somebody else who didn't understand. Sunny needed too-badly someone to care for him, Coco needed casual touch, Zebra needed someone who would argue with him—Komatsu couldn't do much, but he'd do what he could. Always. He wanted to, deep and sure.

...He also didn't want to make his guests, his friends, clean up from their own dinner at such a terrible hour and—

“Fuck this,” Zebra muttered, and there was a sudden moment of dizziness as he was scooped up in one broad hand, unexpectedly, before the world settled—Komatsu gripped tight to his arm, because—because it was _Zebra-san_ and he didn't need an excuse or a reason to hug him, and he'd take every chance he was given, even if he sometimes worried he was taking too much. “You're going to fucking bed, even if I have to sit on you to get you to stay there! Damn chef.”

It sounded like Sunny had suddenly choked on nothing at all.

“Zebra-san,” Komatsu protested.

“Good idea, Zebra,” Coco said, sounding like he was fighting a smile, and Komatsu slumped, sighing—then wiggled until he could grab two of Zebra's fingers in his own, a loose, comfortable grasp.

“If you go out the back way, I'm the fifth door back,” Komatsu told him, relenting.

It was much faster in Zebra's arms, his broad steps eating up the short distance. It was odd, seeing his familiar restaurant from a sudden new vantage point. Or maybe that was the exhaustion. He was fading quickly—maybe they had the right idea, his—Zebra and Sunny and Coco—but he also knew that once you stopped moving, that was when exhaustion caught up with you. He would have been fine, but—

It was nice to be fussed over. He should probably feel guilty about that, he thought, but he was too warm, too comfortable, sleep settling in like a blanket.

Zebra hesitated when they got to the door, and Komatsu shifted again, Zebra helping—following his lead—until he could fling his arms around Zebra's neck and cling, holding tight. “Thank you,” he whispered, barely more than breath, knowing he'd hear it—still trying to put what he meant into the words, because he meant _everything_.

Zebra's breath hitched, and he, he—gently—hugged him back, firm pressure and infinite care.

When he was set down, gently, Zebra looked away, Komatsu unable to meet his eyes from his spot, and he accepted it in favor of fumbling with his keys.

“I hope that you'll fucking get in bed yourself,” Zebra announced, roughly—almost a demand.

“I'll go to sleep, Zebra-san. I promise!”

“Idiot,” Zebra snarled, and he almost stomped back up the hallway.

Komatsu barely had the energy to undress before he fell into bed, still lulled by the fierce heat of Zebra's body close to his—the solid muscle, the slick-smooth surface of his scars, the rough edges, the rumble of his voice. (Coco's just-slightly-strange smell now familiar, acidic and acrid—the weight of Sunny's touch—the movements of their honed muscle, the grace and strength and determination of their bodies.) It kept him warm as he drifted off, thinking of them—thinking forward to the trip ahead—and it was like a sun, filling him from the very core with light and heat.

* * *

Komatsu woke up late—much later than he'd intended, he realized with a jolt, because the sun from the window didn't reach his bed until mid-morning, and that was what had woken him up, and he must have forgotten to set an alarm last night because of—

He beamed, because _yes_ , today he was going on journey with Coco-san and Sunny-san and Zebra-san!

He hurried through his shower, hovering just a second—traveling clothes, or something slightly nicer? They'd mentioned breakfast—but it wasn't really a formal meal—

Feeling a little silly, Komatsu concluded that Zebra-san wouldn't even notice what he was wearing, and that Sunny-san would notice, but he really didn't really approve of Komatsu wearing anything except his chef's outfit, so that wouldn't matter, and in the end dressed up just slightly, a little embarrassed about the whole thing.

Zebra met him in the hallway, looking grumpy, and Komatsu couldn't help the way he reacted: he lit up the way he always did—it made no difference that he'd greeted him the night before, that they were going to spend—well, he didn't know, but at least several days—together. It was just...

_Zebra_ , who steadied him automatically as he threw himself into a hug, gripping tight to the immovable, solid presence of the other man.

“C'mon,” Zebra muttered. “Took you long enough.”

Komatsu couldn't help but wince as he fell back, even as he brushed, companionably, against Zebra's leg. “I'm sorry, Zebra-san! I should have—”

“Fucking hell,” Zebra muttered. “You're working yourself too damn hard. Don't let your cooks get too cocky, make sure they're doing—”

“I'm used to it!” Komatsu pointed out, which was true, and fair. He was—he'd been on a much worse schedule all through school, and his apprenticeship had been very tough at times. “I would never ask anyone to do more than I would—”

Zebra shook his head, growling his apparent disapproval. But he couldn't have been too angry, because he slowed his own steps down a little, to let Komatsu catch up completely—he'd been walking in doubletime, hurrying to adjust for strides so much longer than his own.

“I hope you slept well, Zebra-san!”

“Sure,” Zebra muttered, apparently distracted. “Do you have your stuff already?” He looked a little confused, and eyed the bag with wary distrust, and a ferocious scowl.

“Yes!” Komatsu said, cheerily. “I keep a bag prepared in the restaurant for when Toriko-san stops by. I don't want to keep you waiting too much longer!”

“We won't leave until tonight,” Zebra said, shrugging again, the heavy muscles flexing against his shirt—he was dressed casually too, Komatsu noticed, but it was a newer shirt than he often wore—but maybe it didn't really mean anything, because Zebra didn't worry about appearances as much as Sunny did. But he'd worn a suit to the Hotel Gourmet before, even if it had been rumpled and not as well-fitting as maybe it should be—so they probably weren't going anywhere too formal, because if Zebra-san would dress up for the Hotel Gourmet, and for Komatsu's informal birthday party, then he'd dress up for another restaurant—right? If the situation called for it.

“Oh! Do we have plans for today? If not, I'd love—well, I didn't get to cook for you last night,” Komatsu said as they went down the stairs, Zebra almost—not quite—ridiculous-looking as he took (comparatively) tiny steps, taking the stairs one by one. Komatsu appreciated it. Zebra didn't have to hold himself back for his sake—but it was so nice to walk with him. It had been so long—and spending time with him was better and better, as he got used to Zebra, as he got to know him. He could still see what had frightened him, at first—but at the same time, the very thought was alien to him now, instantly rejected, it went so against the grain of him. It was—it was...

Zebra, who yelled when he was angry and shouted when he was scared—or worried, usually about Komatsu, but he _worried_. He lit up when Komatsu argued with him, at least about the little things, the unimportant things—like he loved the challenge, even if the challenge was just Komatsu. Zebra, who loved meat and sweet drinks and would eat anything, Zebra who had a monstrous appetite but who also loved food, loved to eat, who would—destroy an entire species, but become a hero for it, and hate it, maybe—Zebra, who was staring at Komatsu's face a little too intently.

“I dunno,” Zebra said, reluctantly—Komatsu wasn't sure why, exactly, but he took it at face value, accepted it.

“So where are we going?” Komatsu asked, pressing close to look up at Zebra's face, smiling widely. With a full night's rest—more sleep than he'd gotten in a few nights, really—he was more curious; the pure, sudden pleasure that had shocked through him, learning about their gift to him—that was still there, and still untempered, but some of the newness had worn off, leaving room for curiosity. And of _course_ he would go anywhere with them—he would follow them anywhere, willingly, the where probably irrelevant—underground chambers haunted with monsters, unimaginably hostile environments, he'd gone _already,_ he always would. He'd been ready to at the very beginning, when Toriko-san had been strange and frightening—and he could still be strange, and objectively, Komatsu could see how he was still somehow frightening—before he'd _cared_ the way he did now. Komatsu still updated his will, regularly, with rare ingredients and his recipes, some of them priceless—where would the recipe for Century Soup go? To the Hotel Gourmet, he'd decided, with a short list of people to be provided with as much as they wanted, whenever they wanted—but it was practicality, it wasn't—he _knew_ he would be protected by his partner, he knew that Toriko was far away from where he'd been when he'd told Komatsu that he'd probably die—it warmed him.

“Secret,” Zebra announced, contriving to look smug, despite the scars littering his face, the barely-any-better stitched-up curve of his smile.

Komatsu frowned, then paused, trying to hide a smile. “Let's make a bargain,” he suggested, eyes glittering as he looked up at the other man, maybe a little smug himself.

Zebra groaned, half laughing, his own smile curving across his face—not at all restrained, not anything but purely happy. It was a gift, that Komatsu could see it—that he could recognize it for what it was, because Zebra wasn't... He didn't have many people who would see the happiness in his smile, behind the scars, the ripped cheek, the general impression of scowling he somehow managed to produce almost constantly.

“Zebra-san—I mean, you say our destination's a secret, which means you know it—and I want to cook for you, but you haven't brought me anything to cook,” Komatsu said, trying to keep his voice level and failing completely and not caring. “So our previous bargain doesn't apply to that—”

Zebra was staring at him in apparent bafflement, but when Komatsu staggered under his peals of laughter, Zebra's hands were there to stable him, his voice. Comfortable, and maybe once it had been unthinkable, but now Komatsu knew better. He couldn't imagine any different. And Zebra kept a hand against his shoulder as they stepped out into the brilliant sunlight of the street outside.

* * *

The restaurant was a reasonable walk away, by Komatsu's standards, although Komatsu had traveled days to climb a mountain to pick fruit for dessert—the trip made somewhat faster than normal by the fact that Zebra ignored the traffic signs, traffic lights, and the light traffic itself with casual disinterest, dragging Komatsu in his wake. Komatsu had no doubt that none of the cars could hit them if they tried—not with Zebra there; a fully-armed tank would lose against capture level 5 ingredients, and Zebra was beyond that, far beyond it. Komatsu was also relieved that all the cars recognized Zebra for who he was, or at least realized that something was wrong, stopping in the middle of the street, at green lights—he was relieved the traffic was light, mid-morning in the gourmet district on a weekday.

But it was just like any other trip, dogging Zebra's footsteps, light and excited and impatient, the little edge that all chefs knew lit up inside him—the part that drove new discoveries, hard work, moments of inspiration. He was always learning—he always had been—but it felt, it felt like he was improving by leaps and bounds, now. That he was reaching further than he'd ever expected—improving more than he'd ever suspected even the day he'd worked up the nerve to ask Toriko, _Toriko_ , famed bishokuya, Heavenly King, if he could accompany him.

He'd had no idea.

The restaurant was closed, but lit up—private reservation, Komatsu thought, blinking at the door as Zebra pushed it open, holding it for him to walk through—before he was distracted by the smells. The Diner Gourmet Morning had an excellent reputation—at least in part because the farm that provided it with almost all of its raw ingredients was exclusive to them, and associated with the IGO in ingredient preservation and development. It was not especially pretentious, except that the clientele were often extremely wealthy, just because of the price of the food. ...Komatsu wondered if Sunny had booked this months in advance, the way an ordinary person would need to, or if he'd arranged for it just by being who he was. Surely they hadn't been planning for his birthday that far in advance? Their lives were all so busy—and irregular, depending on the season, the natural ingredient cycles.

Sunny was hovering just inside the door, and his smile, self-pleased and content and excited, was perfect. Komatsu wondered if he'd picked the restaurant—fresh food, good quality, full of minerals and vitamins that would make for healthy skin, bright eyes, beautiful hair—or if Coco had, his own slightly more _subdued_ tastes in the plain but good food, the more casual atmosphere—rough wood tables, lots of light from the sunlit windows. Maybe both, Komatsu thought, hoping they—that they would all be happy. That they were enjoying themselves as much as he was.

“Sunny-san!”

He would never get tired of hugging them. Sunny always clung like someone drowning holding onto a lifeline, like he was trying to press them together, atom-by-atom, not too tightly but thoroughly, holding him close, eyes fluttering closed, a little less dignified—less beautiful, maybe, but Komatsu loved it, _fiercely—_ as he grinned.

“Coco-san!”

“Komatsu-kun,” Coco told him, with all the warmth that was half-hidden on his face, bending down to hug him back, and Coco always started out a little hesitant and then held on, like he was memorizing every second of the hug, grip firming and solidifying and shifting just slightly so that it was more comfortable, more _easy_ , with each slow breath—he always pulled away like he was reluctant.

Zebra-san's hugs were gentle and exactingly controlled, like he was being cherished and defended.

He was _so lucky_.

“Breakfast,” Sunny fussed, as Komatsu fell away from Coco, keeping one of his hands as he did because—because Coco needed it, and shouldn't, shouldn't have ever gotten to the point where he needed it so badly. “'Matsu, your nails are too thin, they're _breaking_ , you're not eating enough beaut'ful food—” he grabbed at Komatsu's other hand, and Komatsu had to giggle as Zebra rolled his eyes and folded his arms.

“My nails are fine,” Komatsu protested, letting himself be pulled over to the table—with his companions, it was easy to ignore the looks he was getting from the nervous waiters, as well-trained as his own, of course, but maybe more nervous because they were less experienced with the Kings—less used to them. As long as they were professional, he thought, with a slight moment of doubt—he'd had trouble with his own staff, once upon a time—

“We had some bee-lobster,” he explained, which made Coco wince preemptively. “And one of them slipped out of its rubber bands and freed the others, and the claws are sharp, and I lost a bit of my nail—it didn't even break the skin!” he added, when Sunny glowered at him.

“And the poisoned stingers?” Coco asked, brow wrinkled.

“Oh, I had my knife,” Komatsu said, as if that explained it. Which it did. The venom sacs were an obvious target, and he'd needed to be sure that his staff were safe, the restaurant patrons. There were epi-pens on hand, a full and extremely well-stocked first aid kit, but better safe than sorry.

“You're a fucking magnet for trouble,” Zebra announced, before snagging Komatsu by the collar—Coco dropping his hand almost regretfully—to set him in a chair. “I'm hungry, stop wasting our time and—”

“Zebra!” Sunny snapped, and Komatsu couldn't help but giggle as the two of them snarled at each other, Coco claiming a seat next to Komatsu as they postured.

“Coco-san, where are we going?” Komatsu asked as he served himself—and Coco—platyduck quiche, vitality melon drizzled in honey, fragrant pearl rice.

“Sunny has informed me it's a secret,” Coco said in response, tilting one brow expressively, and Komatsu snorted with laughter despite himself, at Coco's quiet, buried humor at Sunny's sometimes-ridiculous manner, unable to help himself.

“You'll find out soon,” Sunny assured him, almost glowing with happiness and the corners of his mouth showing, eloquently, his smugness. But it was smug without conceit—or without much of it—there was no bite or unpleasantness to it, Komatsu _knew_ , even if Sunny was often very happy with himself—he had every right to be. He was beautiful, amazing, incredibly powerful, and his moments of openhearted (if overstated, sometimes dramatic) generosity were breathtaking. And he didn't exclude Komatsu from it, even if Komatsu wasn't anything like him.

“Okay,” Komatsu said, turning to his breakfast instead. “Thank you, Sunny-san! Coco-san, thank you, Zebra-san—thank you so much, all of you.” He was smiling so wide, and it was still insufficient to match the happiness shining through him, the—the gratefulness, because he was so lucky, so _honored_ , to be here. That these men would hold themselves back for him, would go out of their way to take him somewhere, just for him—for all of them, but also for _him_. They were all just—amazing. Which was still insufficient in _every_ way to describe how they shone, but he was, well, a chef. Words weren't his forte. He hoped, sometimes, that they understood—he really did love cooking for them. He was happy to cook food for _them_ , happy to echo their triumphs back to them at later meals—Mors oil for Sunny, mellow cola for Zebra—happy to tailor meals for them. Everything. He hoped, when they ate meals he'd prepared for the three—the four—of them, that they understood.

“We haven't even left yet,” Coco told him, an embarrassed but pleased smile on his own face, and Komatsu reached out to touch his leg.

“Still,” he said, and he hoped they understood, the three men watching him, intimidating and powerful and _caring_ in ways Komatsu wasn't sure he deserved, but was never, ever going to turn down—because it was a gift, that was the biggest gift of all, their time, time spent with _them_.

* * *

After breakfast they wandered through the city: the Gourmet Park, where they cleaned out a few food booths—Komatsu nibbled a little, still full from breakfast—and the city zoo, where they traded stories about some of the beasts, nothing nearly as exotic as what they'd all seen in the field, but still interesting, even if Komatsu had a moment of concern, wondering about how _young_ they'd been in some of the altercations—Coco-san talking about his first run-in with cobra lions, how they'd both been sort of equally baffled by the lions' poison being useless, which implied—well, it implied that it had happen when Coco had still been learning his powers.

Mostly, it was the four of them in the bright just-barely-spring sun, walking fairly slowly, looking at the sights, laughing and teasing and occasionally fighting—mostly Sunny and Zebra, but Zebra would try to argue with anyone, and sometimes it was fun to argue with him, Komatsu thought. Maybe he was crazy for it, but he knew, when it didn't matter, that Zebra-san really didn't take it personally. The city parted around them, or at least around Zebra, wary of him and his reputation, and around Sunny's sometimes-intimidating personality. It was a strange way to see the city, and he was surprised when several people—strangers—wished him a happy birthday, or greeted him; Zebra-san smirking at his surprise, Sunny looking as pleased as if he'd been the one complimented. Komatsu had, somewhat reluctantly, gotten used to being recognized in the street, and having people talk to him; it was another surprise, to be recognized even with the Kings around—they had saved the world too, after all, and much more single-handedly than he had. Komatsu had a long list of debts he owed from that day: all the other chefs—Livebearer-san, his own staff, National Treasure Setsuno of course—Tom-san and all of the merchants— _everyone_.

“We should leave soon,” Sunny announced, as they finished off tea in the traditional garden Komatsu loved but didn't visit very often—it reminded him of his hometown, green and tranquil and old-fashioned. He still sounded pleased with himself, and he'd been smiling all morning—it took his normal haughty, elegant features, and made them warmer, more approachable. Komatsu really didn't notice Sunny's natural haughtiness anymore, he didn't let it hold him back, because he knew Sunny's kindness no matter what his expression was like—even if he was still scary when something roused his anger, because Komatsu would also never forget Sunny-san when he'd found the carnage left in the wake of the Bishokukai in the Zeroth Biotope—but it still made him happy to see him more relaxed, because for Sunny to smile like that, _he_ must be happy. And that was important.

“Is there time for me to stop by my apartment?” Komatsu asked, swallowing a mouthful of mochi filled with ruby bean paste. “I'm ready to go now if you need me to, Sunny-san! —Or Coco-san and Zebra-san, too, but you seem to be keeping the schedule right now, Sunny-san.”

“I've planned the most beaut'ful trip,” Sunny said, preening, despite Zebra's expressive snort and Coco's more subdued look in his direction.

“I have my bag from the restaurant, where I keep it just in case,” Komatsu continued. “Sometimes Toriko-san doesn't give me much warning! I understand,” he added, when Zebra growled, lowly, around a mouthful of sweet steamed dumpling, chewing viciously. “But, given the chance, I would like to pick up one or two things.”

“There should be time,” Coco replied, more practically, even if his voice was a touch too cool, hinting at the arctic viciousness he sometimes showed. Komatsu blinked at him, too, because things were always upsetting Zebra-san—he was hot-blooded like that—but Coco-san was usually much steadier.

“I've never seen your house, 'Matsu,” Sunny said, looking avidly curious, and not at all subtle—Coco winced, his moment disappearing—and Komatsu just laughed, letting it go. Everything was fine, after all. He couldn't imagine otherwise, with these three—even when they fought, he _knew_.

“I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, Sunny-san! But please, you're welcome to visit. Always!”

It was a short walk, although they did follow the traffic patterns—probably for the best in the busier afternoon, Komatsu thought. And it was sort of funny to watch Sunny and Zebra struggle at each cross walk, Sunny trying to at least distract Zebra into behaving, because it wasn't aggressive, at least not seriously so, and because they were trying to stay somewhat subdued, and because Coco was steadfastly ignoring them.

Komatsu didn't even consider that the elevator would hold them, but it also wasn't like they'd complain about taking the stairs. It gave him time to worry about preparing snacks and tea—because they might just be stopping by on an errand, but it was Zebra-san and Sunny-san's first times in his home, and he'd feel awful, worse than awful, if he just let them leave without feeding them at _all_ , the familiarity of them only making it worse, because to neglect a stranger was a sin, but to fail these men and all they were doing for him was absolutely unthinkable—and because Coco-san understood and appreciated tradition, and the last thing he wanted was to be disrespectful, to him or to any of them, because he—they— _deserved_ respect.

Zebra in particular barely fit into the hallway, but he didn't complain at the cramped quarters, and the ceiling in Komatsu's home was a little higher. He gave the usual call—“Tadaima!”— at the front door, out of habit, and slipped into his house shoes.

None of his house shoes were going to fit the others, he realized, so he bowed in silent apology. “Please, welcome!” he said, leading them into the kitchen, where he'd be able to sort through his spices, pick up a small flask of Mors oil, and grab a few more gourmet cases. Out of all the rooms in the apartment, he liked the kitchen most, anyway. He hoped—thought—that the Kings would feel the same.

First thing, he put the water on for tea, though. He could feel the Kings' attention on him, aware but not uncomfortable. They often watched him cook, and he understood, he thought. Watching them work was a pleasure, even when it left him with his heart in his throat, pounding with nerves—and he was nothing like them, but maybe it was similar.

Wagashi were produced—nothing fancy, maybe not the best, but they would do. Mostly, it was nice, if a little strange, to have them filling up his tiny kitchen and connected dining room, sitting around the table in comically undersized chairs.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Coco told him, with a smile, when he accepted his cup of tea. He looked comfortable. Maybe that was strange, with his almost-completely-covered skin and broad shoulders and elegant, understated refinement, but he _fit_ into Komatsu's kitchen in ways that probably shouldn't have made sense, but left Komatsu feeling thankful, happy.

“I'll have to get bigger chairs,” Komatsu said, frowning slightly, and Zebra laughed—also comfortable, although he looked, maybe, a little bit on edge.

“You're practically a midget,” he laughed, to make Komatsu protest—but Sunny and Coco beat him to it, simultaneously raising their voices to chide him, which made Komatsu giggle along with Zebra's rough, warm chuckle.

Komatsu couldn't help but smile with pleasure when Coco complimented him on the tea blend, surprised and happy at the deep but not overwhelming flavor, and made a note to give him some the next time he went to visit Coco-san—if he was lucky enough to get to do so again soon.

It was wonderful, always, always _beyond_ wonderful, to go out to strange locations, unbelievable and fantastic places, with the Kings—always, and he was incredibly happy for everything he'd done, overjoyed for everything he would do—and, in time, the lingering promise of the Gourmet World, although it felt more, sometimes, like a happy inevitability, because Toriko was his partner, _Toriko-san_ , and they just—fit—but, Komatsu thought, it was also nice to have them here, like this. To have the three of them crammed into his normal-sized, and therefore too-small, apartment, with the smell of tea and the quiet noise of his mostly-residential district in the city drifting in through the cracked-open kitchen window, crumb-filled plates on the table and nothing but them and their company there with him. It was nice to know more than one side of them—to have them know this side of him. To be able to welcome them in, with food and tea and easy companionship.

-End chapter 2-


	3. In Transit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure begins, in a quiet sort of way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is NOT dead! And my inspiration has been renewed. I'm going to try to keep the chapters shorter, because I think they were getting unwieldy, and this might (no promises DX) speed up my writing a bit. I hope anyone who's still reading this old thing enjoys it!

It was just dark when the hot air balloon Flight Gourmet took off: the day had been relatively mild, but the night had settled light and cold, leaving the air sparklingly clear as they left the ground. Clinging tightly to the edge of the basket, the spicy-sweet scent of the perfumed clovewood used in the wickerwork filling the air, Komatsu was captivated by the lights falling away beneath them: the glimmer of roads, the familiar buildings suddenly given alien perspective.

“It's beautiful,” Sunny murmured in his ear—well, murmured from somewhere above his ear, Komatsu thought—and he nodded eagerly, tearing his eyes away to smile his appreciation at the other man—but not thank him again, because Zebra had started threatening him a while ago about what would happen if he kept on saying thank you.

Sunny looked like carved marble perfection, in the icy night air, a faint rosy blush on his cheeks from the cold, eyes sparkling.

It was almost, Komatsu thought, like climbing for the ozone herb again—there was the same sense of the currents in the air, driving them. He'd dressed warmly, wrapped up in a down jacket Sunny had pushed on him—a pink somewhere between the color of his chef's uniform and the color Sunny favored for his own clothes—and thick gloves. Most of all, it was the other bodies around him, though, the just-shy-of-overwhelming presence—because he wasn't _overwhelmed_ , but they were just so, so _present_ , not overbearing but such a force, their physical strength, their personalities—of the three Kings accompanying him that kept him warm.

Also they all had metabolisms like furnaces, Komatsu thought to himself, always thinking like a chef, but there was no resignation to the thought—instead excitement at the challenge, the always-ready and appreciative audience for his meals, his favorite people to cook for, and the familiar, sad and buried suspicion that Zebra and Toriko, and maybe Coco and Sunny too, could never really be full, or completely satisfied. Certainly not for long. It also left him warm and happy, as he settled into place between Zebra's oversized bulk and the automatic closeness of Sunny, tearing himself away from the view.

He had his suspicions, actually, that his exposed skin was blanketed in a layer of Sunny's hairs, keeping him insulated even more than he actually was, but that was fine. It was Sunny, and he appreciated the warmth—especially because Sunny didn't _have_ to, and sometimes the Kings didn't really... didn't really _understand_ normal human limitations, overestimated or underestimated them. But they had been getting better, and their pilot was doing fine, so he knew that Sunny knew he didn't have to keep Komatsu warm. Which was a warm glow inside his chest.

“We're going east?” Komatsu said, making it a question.

Sunny smiled widely, but there was too much excitement in his eyes for him to look truly smug. “Yes,” he said, teasing, and Komatsu sighed.

“Sunny-san! Where are we going?” Komatsu asked, natural curiosity finally getting the better of him—and because Sunny was clearly so excited. On the other side of Sunny, Coco sighed, but he sounded more amused than truly upset.

“The Gourmet Archipelago,” Sunny said happily. “The Sandwich Islands.”

“Picnics!” Komatsu exclaimed, brain switching directions unexpectedly—the archipelago was known for being quieter and safer—although still full of delicious ingredients, many of them difficult to prepare, delicate to gather. He'd been expecting someplace more dangerous, but—it was the experience of a lifetime. It was near-impossible to gain access, despite the stories told about the chain of islands, the domestic ingredients developed from its spread of animals, plants, and even the natural geography of the island. Komatsu threw himself at Sunny—and Coco—before turning around to hug Zebra, too, fiercely. His whole life—his whole life had become a gift, long ago, sometime before Toriko-san had asked him to be his partner. But after he'd met him.

He was lucky.

And like this, on a trip that only the richest and luckiest could manage, surrounded by three men he cared for so _fiercely_ it made his heart ache? It was even more giddying than the thinning air. “Oh! _Really?_ Oh, thank you so much, Sunny-san, Coco-san, Zebra-san! I never thought I'd get to visit—tortuna, the giant shelled land-fish! Sea-pears, the delicious coral crab, wild neo-tomatoes! You'll let me cook for you, right?”

Coco laughed out loud, looking relaxed and—joyful, and proud, and Komatsu had to clamber over Sunny—carefully, and he was sure he was being aided by Sunny, not that the hunter would admit it—to hug them, both at once.

“Zebra-san?” he asked—couldn't help but ask, hopeful, keeping it near-silent in case Zebra didn't want to bring it to the pilot's attention, because it wasn't just the four of them—

“C'mon, in the middle so you don't tip the basket,” Zebra growled, low and surly, and Sunny snorted.

“Like I'd let _that_ hap'pen,” he said, delicately, superior—and of course, Komatsu thought, of course Sunny would keep them stable!

“Sunny-san! That's amazing!” Komatsu said, cheering for him, because it was _true_ , because he didn't get to say it enough, because it made Sunny preen, smug and haughty but also pleased, and nobody, Komatsu thought, realized how much it mattered to him, compliments—or maybe it was the people, Komatsu thought. Maybe _he_ mattered enough that his opinion meant something to Sunny, just because it was his. --No, no, it couldn't be like that, when Sunny was—who he was, as perfect as he was.

Zebra snarled silently at Sunny, deepening his smirk, but Komatsu was sure that they wouldn't fight, up in the air like this—not for their own sake, but because it might be dangerous for Komatsu. There was that, at least, even if he hoped—he really did—that they didn't really hate the presence of the other as much as it sometimes seemed.

When Zebra slid over to wrap himself around Komatsu's back, arms reaching around Sunny and Coco and squeezing just hard enough, still careful, Komatsu felt like a glass about to overflow, too full of happiness. And full of a sudden surety that they weren't just tolerating each other, that he wasn't the fragile center of the group—that maybe things would be okay between all of them. Komatsu let himself relax into that surety.

They stayed that way for long minutes, maybe too many to be casual, normal, but there was almost nothing that would make Komatsu want to move from their embrace, except maybe to shuffle so he could hug Zebra more directly, take Coco's hand or Sunny's. He was just relieved the Kings didn't seem impatient, or uncomfortable.

“Of course you're cooking for us,” Sunny added, after a moment.

“ _Some_ of the time,” Coco added, admonishing. “You are on vacation!”

“You think any of us could prepare half the things we'll find?” Zebra added, clearly smug—clearly proud of Komatsu. _Proud_.

They had chosen their destination for _him_ , a place where he could explore just as safely as any of them, or almost—a place where his own skills would be more important, more necessary.

“Thank—”

“Oh, don't even fucking start! Don't go getting _cocky_ , Komatsu—”

“Zebra-san!”

“Don't threaten him just because he has manners, Zebra,” Coco began, deceptively mild, making Sunny laugh. “But Komatsu-kun—you really don't need to thank us. Having you along with us is enough thanks—”

Komatsu shook his head, disbelieving, and laughed, overjoyed, then yelped. “Ah! It's _cold_ —”

“Komatsu?” Sunny blurted, losing his composure.

Komatsu gathered himself to respond, shaking his head, reaching out to squeeze Sunny's hand in comfort, pressing closer against Zebra. “No, no, my tears,” he said, because he'd gone damp around the eyes with pure joy, and with the evaporation into the cold dry night air, they were like ice on his cheeks.

Wordlessly, Sunny relaxed, invisible strands wiping at Komatsu's tears. At his other side, Coco produced a handkerchief—clean, he knew that Coco would never hand him anything potentially contaminated with his poisons, that he was always hypervigilant, too much so, Komatsu thought, he wanted to be safe, of course, but he wanted _Coco_ to be safe, too—and then Coco hesitated, just for a second, hand half-extended, before he brought it up to dab gently at Komatsu's eyes, wicking up the last of the moisture.

“I'm just so _happy_ ,” Komatsu said, to the thin night air, hoping they understood even though he couldn't find the words. “I—how could I be anything other than thankful?”

* * *

Komatsu had fallen asleep, lulled by the near-silence of the night air, the warmth of the Kings next to him. When he woke up to shift positions sometime in the very early morning, before dawn, he found the Kings asleep around him, an almost puppy-like tangle. Part of Komatsu—a part he couldn't hold in check the way he usually did, too foggy with sleep—ached that Toriko wasn't there; the greater part of him felt guilty for feeling that way, when he spent so much time with Toriko, so much time sleeping next to him. Most of all, he was thrilled to be next to the other Kings, awed, filled with a giddy not-quite-disbelief that _he_ was there with them. That they'd trust him enough to let him—

Let him pillow his head on Zebra's lap, even though he'd drooled a little bit, leaving a damp spot on the thick fabric of Zebra's pants. His feet were tucked up against Coco, and someone had pulled off his shoes. There was another jacket draped over him, and the extra warmth was wonderful, even if he could have done without it—and it was Sunny's coat, Sunny himself sprawled against Coco, looking far more undignified than he usually did when awake. Komatsu couldn't help but laugh, very softly, Zebra opening an eye at the sound, scowling—then relaxing again, a smile appearing on his face as he seemed to go back to sleep. No wonder they hadn't posted anyone on watch: with Zebra's hearing and Coco's foresight and Sunny's touch, there was no way anything could sneak up on them. Komatsu was happy, deep in the pit of his stomach, that they could relax like this, together. It meant—a lot. Maybe too much. But he just turned over—Sunny made a small noise, and Coco shifted without waking, and Komatsu moved a hand to rest on Zebra's knee and fell asleep, distantly aware that it had been covered by Zebra's hand, rough and scarred and calloused, and so so warm.

* * *

Komatsu woke up to a glorious dawn breaking, endless blue ocean below them, and the smell of clean saltwater almost completely hidden by the smell of breakfast.

“Good morning,” Komatsu said, yawning, trying to stretch out some of the kinks—waking up slowly because he'd slept so deeply.

“How did you sleep?” Coco asked, a deep smile, the kind Komatsu could never see often enough, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Good! Good morning, Coco-san, Sunny-san, Zebra-san! Mmmm, that smells delicious—”

“Cocky bastard, good thing you finally woke up—I'm damn hungry,” Zebra growled, and Komatsu blinked at him as Coco glared at him—actually looking angry!—and Sunny went tense.

“Fuckin'—” Zebra muttered, apparently to himself, before glaring at Komatsu, as if prompting him to say something.

“Eh?!”

“I shoulda just woken you up,” Zebra said, louder, gruff and angry. “I'm hungry.”

“You should have eaten without me!” Komatsu said, automatically, still trying to figure out what exactly was going on, but sure it would all be alright. “Please, Zebra-san, eat—”

“You think I'm the sort of asshole to eat without waiting for you on _your_ birthday trip?” Zebra roared, and Komatsu felt even more lost.

“Zebra,” Coco snapped, warning him.

“No! —Yes?” Komatsu said, and—and oddly, Zebra seemed to relax. Or maybe deflate. “Not like that! I mean—I know how much you need to eat, and I—I'd want you to start eating. If you're hungry. Always, Zebra-san!”

Zebra actually smiled, and Komatsu relaxed with a sigh of relief. “I knew _you'd_ understand me,” Zebra muttered, just loud enough for Komatsu to hear, and he reached out to rest a hand on Komatsu's shoulder. —Komatsu had to pull him into a hug, after that, because there was no other way for him to express himself. And when he could turn around to look, he could see the other two Kings relaxed again—a small, thoughtful frown on Coco's face, and one of Sunny's most transparent attempts to look disdainful.

“I understood,” Komatsu said, squeezing Zebra again in emphasis. “I think,” he added, because—because Zebra deserved not just honesty but _truth_ from Komatsu. “I know—you,” Komatsu added. “You're—grumpy before you've eaten, you get hungry so fast, and—it's you, and I know that you're a _good person_ no matter what, one of the best, it's—you. I know you,” Komatsu said.

“Maybe better than I do,” Coco allowed, sounding distant, sad enough to make Komatsu wince in sympathy. “Komatsu-kun, I should have realized that you wouldn't take offense—except to worry about what you shouldn't.”

“Komatsu's the only damn person not to flinch when I threaten them,” Zebra said, head downturned. “I ain't going to—”

“I know,” Komatsu said, needing to say it—needing to make sure Zebra _knew_ , because Zebra needed people who saw him, _him_ , not the most-feared King and international threat to safety and security, but just a person.

“Of c'ourse, it's 'Matsu,” Sunny said, voice oddly stiff, head downturned. “Too brave.”

“S-Sunny-san! I'm—I'm not _brave_ —”

Coco actually broke out into a full body laugh at that, so delightful that Komatsu could only listen for a second, heart in his throat, before he joined in, not even sure why, but it was infectious—Coco, unrestrained and joyful.

“Let's eat,” Komatsu said, finally feeling like everything had settled—not sure what exactly had happened, but glad that things seemed okay again, between these people he cared so much about, all of them. “Thank you for waiting for me—even if you shouldn't have!”

“It's your—”

“Coco-san! You can't use that excuse the _whole_ trip!” Komatsu said, gesturing with his hands, trying to encompass how unfair that would be—to him, mostly, because he wanted, like always, to take care of the Kings, not because they needed it but because _no one else did_. It was important to him. So important. They were so—amazing, and deserved more. Komatsu could give them all he could.

“'Course I can,” Sunny said, loftily, before breaking into laughter at Komatsu's protesting gesticulations, Coco shaking his head and Zebra trying to hide a grin—because of his scarring, he could probably manage it, except to anyone who knew him.

“Just wake me up, next time—”

“You were sleeping!” Coco said, upset, beginning his response simultaneously with Sunny.

“'Matsu! You need your beau'ty rest—”

“But I can always sleep—I don't want to miss any precious moments on this trip,” Komatsu said, breaking into his widest, truest smile, making his way to his feet. He headed towards the tiered table laden with food, and—

Was pulled back down, by Sunny, even if Komatsu couldn't see his hairs. “Sunny-san!”

Komatsu couldn't move a finger until he was presented with a heaping plate of food, and Sunny finally released him. His plate first, and they'd piled it with delicacies, each one of the three men making selections for _him,_ which on one hand made him squirm—his own hunger was so much less overpowering, so much less of a force—but on the other hand, even as he felt guilty, made him glow with something that wasn't at all pride, but felt almost the same, mixed with unending affection. They were taking care of _him_ , even if they didn't need to. He didn't know why, but—

It was important to him.

It wasn't a full meal by the Kings' standards, but it was a generous spread, all things good cold or at room temperature—except for the tea, which was steaming hot, welcome in the chill air. The Gourmet Archipelago was equatorial, hot, punctuated by rainy seasons, but this high up, the air was cold. It helped to have the Kings huddled around him, Sunny on one side and Coco on the other, Zebra slouched so his outspread arms pillowed Komatsu's head, passing behind Coco to reach him.

“Try th' quichefruit I picked for you, 'Matsu!” Sunny demanded, snagging some off his own plate and presenting the morsel to Komatsu. “Open up—”

“Sunny-saa—mmph!” Komatsu said, as the bite was popped in, Sunny smiling in victory and Zebra actually breaking out into chuckles.

He hadn't realized, Komatsu thought as he chewed, that they'd gathered all or some of the ingredients they were eating. ...Maybe for him, in particular. It was a squirmy sort of pleasure, Komatsu so happy to be thought of, but also—it was just _him_ , he was just Komatsu, and they never had to go to any extra effort for him. Simply having them there, that was the greatest gift. It meant more to him than he really wanted to think about—it meant so much that he could even keep Toriko out of his thoughts, for the most part. He wondered what his partner was eating—hoped that he was okay. But of course he would be, he was Toriko-san.

“It's delicious, Sunny-san! Thank you!”

“Of c'ourse,” Sunny said, preening.

“I can see the Sandwich Isles,” Coco said, staring off across empty endless ocean. “We're almost there.”

Komatsu couldn't help but stare at the empty horizon, even knowing that there was no way he'd be able to see it, not for hours. “The Sandwich Isles! Waaah, it's like a dream—”

“We'll have lunch there,” Coco said, and Komatsu couldn't help but clench his hands, anxious to have his knife, his apron, so excited by the chance to prepare challenging ingredients, taste new flavors, and cook for the Kings. He'd been waiting to cook for them for—too many days, now, and all the time apart before that, and he knew that they were just trying to take care of him, but he loved cooking for the Kings more than he loved cooking for anyone else. It meant that much to him. He didn't know why they couldn't understand that, that _they_ were the most important part of the gift, and that cooking for them was never— _ever_ —a chore, an obligation..

-End Chapter 3-


	4. A Hopeful Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Komatsu, Coco, Sunny and Zebra arrive at the Gourmet Archipelago.

The sand on the beach was blonde and warm with the sun, the heat enough that the freezing ocean water hitting the beach was welcome against Komatsu's toes. He couldn't help but laugh, giddy, as he splashed in the waves.

Zebra was like a small island next to him, a solid and absolutely unmoving pillar scowling at the waves, arms crossed, and Sunny was watching them from the beach with an expression of extreme distress on his face—something about what salt water would do to Komatsu's skin—and Komatsu was almost beside himself with excitement. The beach was beautiful, rising out of the ocean, and brown gravy pelicans were soaring overhead. It was still mid-morning, but Komatsu was already planning lunch, looking at the cocoa-nut palms, covered in their delicious chocolate fruit, requiring the gentlest of touches because they tasted best when hot from the sun, melted almost liquid—so that the wrong pressure would make them burst, or a stray slice of the knife puncture them. The furikake iguanas stared at them with disdain, from where they were pancaked against hot rocks, and Komatsu couldn't wait to try the delicious seaweed-salt-sesame mixture they made on rice—but before that, there were red crabs, the size of his fist up to the size of a small dog, not dangerous to humans as they picked at the sand, but delicious. Those he could barbecue, and there were dancing cactus, good for their fruit and for their pads, if you were careful with the wiggling, mobile spines, but Komatsu knew he could handle it—or at least he'd try! Abandoned eggs from the careless albatross, each one coming up to Komatsu's waist, and—

“Friendly seals!” Komatsu shouted, jumping with glee—almost falling over, on the shifting sand and still standing in the surf; he was pretty sure Sunny caught him—and then he took off, slowing as he got near them. They didn't run, and Komatsu laughed as he wandered into the middle of them, all of them calm at his presence.

“Oh!” Komatsu said, eyes going even wider as one of the babies nuzzled at his foot, whiskers tickling, before it looked up with large, liquid eyes, and—

Looking over his shoulder, the Kings were still where he'd left them, looking at him with obvious intensity, even if he was too far away to see the exact details of their expressions. None of them were moving.

“Zebra-san?” Komatsu called, baffled, wanting an answer—

“Not even friendly seals are okay with predators like _me_ around,” Zebra called back, his voice personal and clear over the surf, the private voice in his ear that always left Komatsu feeling warm—even when the rest of him was starting to worry some.

“But—” Komatsu began, picking his way out of the cluster of lazy seals stretched out in the sun, sandy and content and smelling distinctly fishy. He jogged back over to the Kings, a little awkward on the sand.

“We don't want to chase them away,” Coco offered, with a polite smile—it was, oh, _lovely_ , Coco's smile always was, but it also wasn't as bright as Komatsu knew it could be. Not as—genuine, not that there was any true artifice. “I'm afraid Zebra's right. We're—unsafe, and friendly seals normally aren't afraid of anything on land, they don't have any natural predators, it's true, but they'd still likely react to us.”

“Unbeaut'ful lumpy creatures,” Sunny muttered, so unconvincingly that Komatsu couldn't even bring himself to argue.

“You go play with them, see if they'll bring you fish. I'm hungry,” Zebra added.

“No,” Komatsu blurted out, too fast. “Um—sorry, Zebra-san,” he added, a little bit sheepishly; Zebra laughed, his face relaxing some, always a little bit thrilled, Komatsu suspected, when Komatsu openly defied him. “I—you don't know? So—so let's try,” he said, so sure it was bone-deep that what was most important was staying with the Kings, friendly seals or not. He didn't— _want_ to leave them watching him, because he knew, as well as anyone knew, how they were all a little monstrous, but he also—

He didn't know if the Kings knew how much they _weren't_ monsters at all. And he couldn't handle the thought of them staring at him, wanting to join in but unable to, and unwilling to even try because of Komatsu himself.

“You should have this experience,” Coco began, voice almost hard the way it so rarely was with Komatsu. Or maybe strained. “I don't want to— Komatsu-kun, do you remember when we met?”

“Of course!” Komatsu said, horrified that that was ever in question. “Coco-san—”

“Do you remember everything that ran away from me?” Coco said, voice level and controlled.

“I don't want to without you,” Komatsu said, squaring his shoulders—digging his heels in, figuratively and also literally he realized, in the soft sand. “I don't— _and_ it's my birthday trip,” he added, defiant. “If you can use that, so can I!”

Zebra and Sunny both broke into laughter, simultaneous, and it warmed Komatsu up more than the tropical sun ever could.

“But—”

“No buts! Come on—all of you. Zebra-san—please.”

“If all you want to see of the seals is them running the hell away, then fine. I'm not gonna stop you,” Zebra said, responding to the slight pressure of Komatsu tugging on his wrist after another few seconds of unmoving resistance.

They moved slow, playing in the surf but the Kings paying too close an eye to the group of seals they were approaching, Komatsu thought. He needed to—

Standing in the surf, his back to them, Komatsu whispered in the barely-more-than-breath voice that was too quiet for anyone but Zebra. “Zebra-san—I need your help!”

“The fuck?”

“I think Coco-san—well, both Coco-san and Sunny-san, but Coco-san especially—would like to play in the water, but—”

“But Coco's got a stick up his ass and he's freaking out about seals,” Zebra said, slightly vindictive glee apparent in his voice. “Okay, Komatsu, I'm on board. How're we gonna do this?”

Thirty seconds later, Komatsu was asking Coco questions about the jumping sand-shrimp hopping at the edge of the water, and Zebra barreled into them, body checking Coco into the surf, making Komatsu trip, falling down too—soaking wet and laughing, even as he looked for Coco with concern.

“Coco-san! Coco-san—Zebra-san! That was—”

“He's fine,” Zebra said, just managing the words in between gales of rough laughter. “he—HAH, finally caught you off guard, Coco, you foresighted bastard!”

A few seconds later, Zebra was trying to brace himself uselessly as he was pushed inexorably into the water, Sunny untouched, serene and smirking on the beach.

It was strange, watching two people wrestle when one was—to Komatsu's eyes—standing completely still, arms crossed, fifteen feet away from the battle.

“Come on, Sunny-san! The water feels really good—”

“ _Only_ for your b'irthday!” Sunny said finally, throwing his hands up in disgust, locking up Zebra completely still in his Hell Kitchen so he could slowly and meticulously peel out of this clothes, until he was—

Well. Komatsu had to look away, sure he was a little red, but Sunny was—

He wondered what Zebra could hear in his heartbeat.

It wasn't _polite_ to ogle your friends, so Komatsu just waded over to Coco, who looked torn between amusement and anger. “Coco-san, I'm sorry!”

“You weren't the one to... —Komatsu-kun! _You_ —”

“Sorry, Coco-san! So sorry, it's just—you looked so hot in all your clothes, and—”

Coco laughed again, and Komatsu joined in, delighted, and so it took him completely by surprise when Coco tackled him, pushing them both underwater, and Komatsu couldn't swim, but he was completely relaxed nonetheless, because Coco had him. Because Sunny was there—and that was Sunny plucking Komatsu away from Coco, with one-hand and probably a number of feelers, standing on top of the ocean.

“'Matsu, how could you b'tray us?” Sunny said, melodramatic even by his standards, and when Komatsu just kept on laughing, he finally gave up and laughed too, finally stepping into the water.

Coco's hair was like liquid ink, plastered against his forehead and neck with ocean water, the bandages on his head pulled off and tossed up onto the beach—in a situation where there wasn't an immediate threat to life and limb, for once. Komatsu knew how handsome Coco was—it was hard not to, with his horde of fans—but he thought, it would be impossible for anyone to not love him, if they ever saw him like this. Zebra was smiling, openly and unselfconscious, heedless of the gaping cut in his cheek, the way he too-often seemed not to be—it half-hurt, to see how open he was here, how _comfortable_ , around only people who knew him, who weren't afraid of him. Zebra's shirt was plastered to the sculpted muscle of his chest, his arms, skin-tight and shining in the sun. Sunny's hair was still dry, carefully looped up, but he was grinning, brilliantly and widely, not thinking about the aesthetics and only enjoying himself—and the salt water streaming down his pale chest, lapping against the long lean line of his thighs was spectacular.

Komatsu took a second to stand back and watch, trying to commit it all to memory, overwhelmed for a second with the honor of getting to see them like that.

When he focused again, he found Coco staring at him, concentrating just as hard as Komatsu had been, or more so—he certainly could see more. His expression was soft, inattentive, and there was something—

He couldn't imagine what Coco was seeing, that would put that expression on his face, but it made the breath catch in Komatsu's throat, suddenly tight. So he waded back in, over to Coco, smiling up at him.

“Isn't this better, Coco-san?”

“It is,” Coco said slowly, hesitating only a second before he pulled Komatsu into a brief hug. “And it _is_ your birthday trip, after all.” His smile was teasing.

“Coco-saaaan!”

“Thank you, Komatsu-kun,” he said, quietly, although Coco had to know that Zebra still glanced over at them, from where he was gathering currant-jelly fish out of the water.

“Thank _you_ ,” Komatsu told him, meaning it, and—

“ _Komatsu, ya damn brat!_ ” Zebra roared, stomping over towards them, and—

“Wahhh, sorry, Zebra-san, no more thanking—”

“No more apologies!” Sunny snapped out, and that left Komatsu with nothing to do except laugh.

It didn't _matter_ that they were what they were. They were extraordinary—it was part of their extraordinariness—Komatsu would rather play in the waves with them, no matter what he missed, than leave them behind.

The only shadow was Toriko—Toriko's absence.

“At least you're letting me cook for you!” Komatsu shouted back, defiant to the end, finally pulling off his shirt—soaked through, he probably should have taken it off a while ago. Sunny hissed his disapproval, snatching it out of Komatsu's hands, Komatsu watching as it floated over to the beach and was draped over a bush. “Thank you, Sunny-san!”

For some reason, Sunny was blushing faintly—it looked lovely on him, of course it did—and looking away, making Komatsu pause in confusion—but he couldn't see anything.

“We should teach you how to swim,” Coco said, more an order than a suggestion. “You should know how.”

“I know,” Komatsu said, embarrassed, a little guilty. “I should, I'm sorry—no, Zebra-san! Don't give me that look, I can apologize if I _want_ to—” and even Komatsu had to laugh at that, a little sheepish, after realizing what he'd said “—I've been meaning to sign up for classes, it's just one of those things—please, don't feel obligated! This should be a vacation for you too.”

“Komatsu-kun,” Coco said, terribly fond, shaking his head.

“Shut up,” Zebra added.

“O-oh!” Komatsu said, eyes going wide as he saw the elegant body of one of the friendly seals, so awkward on land, sliding towards them, and—then popping up just a few feet away.

Zebra's eyes were wide and open with surprise—it made him look years younger, it was too easy to forget that Zebra was right around his age—his face unguarded; and then the seal was slipping closer, nosing with curious whiskers at Sunny's abdomen until he laughed at the tickle, and out of pure delight, his eyes fixed on the sweet rounded head.

And if Zebra was young, Sunny was even younger. And Komatsu would never be done with seeing that kind of open, surprised joy on his face.

Coco had backed up, and his face was shuttered, and Komatsu's hands curled into fists automatically. But before he could do anything, another seal had slipped into the water next to Coco, and gone up to investigate, sliding its smooth wet head under Coco's hand, bumping against his side, gently.

And the seals kept coming, until there was a half dozen, playing tag with each other and accidentally running into the humans around them, and tugging on loose bits of clothing and sliding fearlessly around them—playing with them, too.

“You're so cuuute!” Komatsu said, kneeling so he was at face-level with one—it poked its snout into his hair, making Komatsu laugh. “Yes you are—”

“Didn't know he was into _cute_ things,” Zebra muttered in the background, sounding like he was trying to sound disgusted.

“ _Really?_ ” Coco said, tone amused.

“'Matsu's got Yun,” Sunny added.

“I bet you eat delicious fish,” Komatsu continued, looking into eyes that seemed to be actually listening—and it was so easy to reach out, falling into the intuitive state he sometimes reached when he was cooking. There were ripe seagrapes rolling around at his feet, tossed by the waves—boatnuts big enough to carry Coco or Sunny caught in the current, too far out for Komatsu but easily reached by the Kings—and the seals all around them, gentle and interested and, yes, caring.

Komatsu fell over as a large, still-thrashing fish was pushed into his shoulder, flapping vigorously against his shoulder, neck and head until the friendly seal that had brought it made a sound of dismay and severed the spinal cord with a neat bite to the nape.

“For me?” Komatsu asked, amazed, as the creature pushed it towards him—there were stories of the friendly seals feeding people, but not very many, and almost all of them about people who the seals had saved from drowning after a shipwreck. “I—if you need the fish, you should take it! I can always catch more, or—no, don't laugh!” And sure enough, the seal was chortling under its breath. “My friends can,” Komatsu said, continuing. “So—thank you! I'm honored, seal-san, it's—”

The seal snorted, disgusted, and pulled the fish—almost as big as it was, a King-sized portion—over to Coco, pushing it pointedly into him.

Komatsu was struck dumb, watching Coco pick up the fish. Coco was silent, amazed, like he couldn't quite believe it, and like he never could have seen this coming. That hurt, even as Komatsu's heart filled with joy—as much hurt as happiness, because Coco shouldn't— _none_ of them. Should have to think of themselves as monsters.

...Maybe Komatsu was imagining things, though. Projecting. He couldn't imagine the Kings not— _knowing_ just how wonderful they were. How absolutely incredible.

“I'll be damned,” Zebra said, laughing, relaxing—almost. He was moving very slowly, very controlled, no sharp sudden movements. Trying not to look, _something_ , aggressive, violent, trying not to spook the seals. When he turned to look at Komatsu, he looked almost awed. Komatsu knew his face went slack with surprise, and he shook his head, an automatic negation. Komatsu wasn't responsible for this. Just the Kings, being who they were—Komatsu was glad that the friendly seals saw them as more than predators, more than beasts. As human as him, even if they were sometimes inhuman in their ways.

“Don't you shake your head at me, you bastard—”

“Sorry, Zebra-san!”

“ _Don't fucking apologize!_ Don't shake your—you know damn well you're the reason these seals are here!” He was shaken out of his mounting fury by a seal popping out of the water to bump its nose into his elbow, one smooth motion, undeterred by his anger—and that made Komatsu's heart warm, too, even though his confusion, because _he_ knew that Zebra wasn't an out of control destructive force, but too many people seemed to think he was. Not Komatsu, not the friendly seals—not now, at least, when Zebra was just play-angry, almost, rough and blustery and communicating so much more if you just listened.

“But I'm not, Zebra-san! I told you, they have no reason—”

“Komatsu-kun...” Coco said, voice very tired, trailing off into a sigh.

“Eh?! Coco-san—”

“You piss me off! You don't—”

“Don't what, Zebra-san?”

“...never mind,” Zebra said, gritting out the words. “You're clueless about obvious—I—we—it's—”

Sunny was, in the background, getting presented with a fish of his own, and without warning it was yanked twenty feet to smack into Zebra's head, hard enough to send him back a few steps, blindsided.

“Sunny-san!”

“Let's go get a fire started,” Coco suggested, wading over to Komatsu. He only took Komatsu's hand when Komatsu reached out to him, but he didn't hesitate to take it when it was offered. So Komatsu leaned in close, until he could feel Coco's heat all along his side, fierce against his skin, chilled by cold ocean water, the currents too strong for the sun to warm it much.

“It is almost lunchtime,” Komatsu said, squinting overhead—although really, for him and for his companions, too, any time was a good time to eat. And the fish was incredibly fresh, and rare, hard-to-capture deep water species, and with crab and fish and—yes! Clinging clams, sweet-fleshed and tender even when they were hand-sized, even when they were the size of one of _Zebra's_ hands. If he could find lemon ants to juice, and butterclams that he could gather sweet cream butter from—

“Coco-san, do you see any butterclams?”

Coco smiled, dazzling, light-hearted and free of worry. “I did, Komatsu-kun—while you were making Sunny taste the sea grapes. I didn't gather any, though. I don't have the skill to collect them without sand spoiling the butter, at least not consistently.”

“Coco-san! You shouldn't doubt yourself—you're so exact! I remember you showing me how to prepare puffer whales, I was so amazed!”

“And you surpassed me almost immediately,” Coco reminded him, more than a hint of pride in his voice..

“But you shouldn't doubt yourself! But—we can go back for them, and—Coco-san, would you catch some of the crabs for me?”

“I'll send Zebra and Sunny off to do something useful, too,” Coco said, laughing as he neatly side-stepped the rock Zebra threw at him in retaliation.

Komatsu had to laugh too, even as he protested. “Don't disrupt them! It's a vacation—we're all on vacation, and they look like they're having fun.” It really did, now, to him—even if a lot of other people would see Sunny and Zebra trying to kill, or at least seriously injure, each other. But they were playing, still mindful of Komatsu on the beach and the seals—prudent rather than afraid—that had retreated to deeper water.

“They'll want to anyway,” Coco said, and sure enough, Zebra and Sunny had turned back to the beach, their fight reduced to nothing more than rough pushes that didn't do much to shift either one. “After all, Komatsu-kun, it's for a meal you're preparing!”

-end-


	5. A Picnic Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long, long absence, here is chapter 5! Many thanks to everyone who has encouraged me, and everyone who has read & enjoyed this fic. And extra thanks to owlphallacies for her input/being my cheerreader!

Komatsu knew he had an audience as he finished cooking lunch for the four of them, their eyes heavy and warm on his skin. The sun was hot, but the heat of their attention--well, it left him feeling like he wanted to preen. He knew, objectively, that he was impressive, in his own way: he was a minor celebrity chef, not someone everyone would recognize on sight but well-known enough to have fans. He was Toriko’s chef partner. He also knew that he wasn't an impressive person, in almost every other way: he was short, overemotional, not especially good looking, more comedic than handsome. Sunny had been (brutally) honest when they'd first met, and it had only been the truth. Komatsu wasn't beautiful, except for the specific passion he brought to his cooking.

He also knew that he would never and could never measure up to these incredible men, who were the incredible superhumans everyone had heard of, but also--passionate, generous, their personalities as much a force of nature as their bodies, the two combining to make them who they were, and they were extraordinary.

But they liked to watch him cook, and it was an embarrassing pleasure. At least in part because of how much he loved it, being the center of their attention. Maybe it should have been alarming (he knew that a lot of people would feel that way about the Kings' undivided attention) or humiliating instead of just a little embarrassing, but it wasn't. He knew that he didn't really deserve it, despite what Coco might say, or even Sunny and Zebra, but he had their attention anyway.

Or at least, the attention of their appetites, which was almost the same thing with the Kings.

(But--Komatsu couldn't help but wonder if they'd had anyone to take care of them, before he'd come along. Not since Ichiryuu, he thought, and it was a cold and lonely thing.)

Maybe they were just impatient for something to eat, watching him just for that reason, but Komatsu didn't think that was all that it was.

"Lunch is ready!" he declared, and there wasn't an immediate rush for food, for once. It was a lazy day, a vacation day, and they were on a stunning beach, all already gathered around Komatsu's impromptu kitchen--a couple of fires and some laid-out leaves, a sturdy but finely-woven wool blanket to picnic on--and he sat down to join them.

Komatsu moved his pan of steamed mussels into the middle of the group, quickly ripping off chunks of the baguette loaf they'd brought with them, quick neat turns of his wrist as he distributed the portions.

He could still feel their eyes on him. He hoped that they'd blame the slight flush on the heat of the sun and the fires--it was a good excuse. Nobody else had to know that that wasn’t all that it was.

"Incredible," Sunny murmured, voice awed.

"Help yourselves!" Komatsu urged, grabbing a mussel for himself, tugging it quickly out of the shell, sighing at the sweet, briny taste, the bite of lemon and garlic and white wine in the broth, fresh pineapple sage as a nod to the tropical surroundings. "Maybe I can do ceviche for a mid-afternoon snack," he suggested, through a mouthful of food, a little indistinct.

"Komatsu-kun," Coco started.

"Gonna tell him to mind his manners?" Zebra smirked, speaking with his own mouth full of food, clearly a challenge.

Sunny swallowed, then made an incredibly eloquent moue of disgust.

Komatsu tried to stifle a laugh, swallowed his own mouthful before he cut in, playful. "No, no, Coco-san's probably right!"

"You cooked, so you can do wh'tever you want," Sunny said promptly, before turning to glare at Zebra. "'Matsu has his own kind of beauty that he brings to the meal and his food, unlike you, you disgustin'--"

"No arguing at mealtimes," Coco said sharply.

"They can argue if they want," Komatsu tried. "I mean--"

"...when Zebra's arguing, it does give the rest of us more time to eat," Coco allowed, with a sigh.

"Hey!" Zebra snapped, voice booming out loud enough to ring out against the ocean. "I'm not gonna eat everything 'Matsu cooked for us and leave him with nothing to eat on his birthday trip!"

"You would," Coco said flatly, not unamused.

Komatsu laughed, but--but looking at Zebra, he knew that most people would just see, well, a monster's face, but he thought he could see something like pain in his expression.

"I know you wouldn't," Komatsu said quietly--not quietly enough to keep anyone there from hearing him, not with all their senses sharpened the way they were--scooting closer to Zebra. Maybe it was too hot to lean against someone else, almost cuddled up against him, let alone someone with the furnace-like metabolism of the Kings, but he did anyway.

Zebra swallowed, something a little pained on his face--a little relieved?--and moved his hand to cover Komatsu's, where it was propping him up, planted in the sand.

"...did you call 'Matsu 'Matsu?" Sunny asked suddenly. It was almost a relief, cutting through the slight tension, the sudden reminder of just how little most of the world expected of Zebra, even those closest to him. A little too true to be a joke.

Zebra blanched. "I don't know what you're talking about," he growled.

"Did you?" Komatsu asked, blinking, trying to think back--

"He did," Coco said, clearly delighted. "Zebra, are you copying Sunny now? I'm sure he has some tips for skincare--"

"Of course an unbeaut'ful man like Zebra would want to use my wond'rous--"

"No!" Zebra bellowed.

"I think you did call me 'Matsu though," Komatsu said, trying to hide a laugh, then giving up, giving in, letting the belly laugh bubble out of him, collapsing into Zebra's side as he shook with gales of laughter.

"Just fuckin' eat your lunch," Zebra demanded roughly, grabbing a crab and quickly, easily cracking open the shell, pushing it towards Komatsu. It was one of the smaller ones, a single serving for an average-sized human, and he clearly meant it for him.

"Thank you, Zebra-san," Komatsu told him, letting his hand slide over Zebra's, fingers sliding over the dips and valleys of his scars, the rough callouses. Komatsu blushed a bit harder, withdrawing a little, not quite able to meet the other man's eyes, but when he looked at Coco, Coco was watching them with something like longing.

"Are you getting enough to eat, Komatsu-kun?" Coco asked, watching Komatsu crack open a crab leg with sure, competent hands, the deft strength of a chef who could keep up with Kings.

"Of course, Coco-san," Komatsu said immediately.

"Have you tried the crab roe? Th' delicate eggs are a beaut'ful bite," Sunny cut in, glaring suspiciously at Komatsu like he didn't believe him.

"No," Komatsu said, looking over, and--Sunny shifted over until he was at Komatsu's other side, managing to make the maneuver look graceful instead of an awkward shuffle, before carefully offering a generous bite of the delicacy to the chef.

Komatsu leaned over to eat it off Sunny's chopsticks without thinking, looking up at the feel of eyes on him again.

Sunny looked entranced, mouth just slightly parted, eyes fixed on Komatsu's mouth.

"Is there something on my face?" Komatsu blurted out.

"No!" Sunny yelped, leaning back like he was going to retreat--before he could leave, Komatsu grabbed at his hand, too, holding fast.

"Thank you, Sunny-san!"

Sunny settled again, close enough that Komatsu could feel the flutter of his hair in the wind against his arm, and Komatsu felt like his heart skipped a beat in his chest. The warmth suffusing him was a greater heat than the equatorial sun overhead.

This was all he'd ever wanted, everything he'd never even known to want, wouldn't have dared to imagine if he'd thought of it.

(...except for Toriko. But he wasn't going to think about that. And there was _nothing_ lacking--he was here with three of the four Kings, and it was an incredible gift, and he was more than grateful for what he did have.)

And the next meal, he'd make sure he was sitting next to Coco, because Coco wouldn't think to move closer to Komatsu, or at least wouldn't act on it.

"Maybe swimming lessons after lunch?" Komatsu asked, turning to look at Coco--any of them probably could, but Coco had offered.

"Of course, Komatsu-kun," Coco said immediately, smiling warm and open over at him. Komatsu thought that if any of Coco's fans ever saw him smiling like this, they'd be more than smitten, stunned by the sweetness of the expression.

"After dessert," Komatsu confirmed.

"Sweets are no good for the skin," Sunny pouted, but Komatsu knew him now, and he could see how little Sunny really meant it.

"But cocoa-nuts, in addition to having a shell of smooth chocolate, are also full of antioxidants and nourishing oils that lead to smooth, elastic skin and lush, full-bodied hair," Komatsu said brightly. He'd started paying attention to things like that, for Sunny's sake.

"And dessert's fuckin' delicious," Zebra grumbled, eyeing Sunny like he was dangerously insane, maybe contagiously so.

“ _Some_ of us have appearances to keep up,” Sunny said waspishly, with a pointed toss of his hair. It really was extraordinary, above and beyond the color, and the invisible--well, to everyone except Coco--sensors wrapped up in it: strong, robustly healthy, like a waterfall of silk.

“You’d be beautiful no matter what,” Komatsu told Sunny firmly, meeting his eyes. “No matter what you eat, Sunny-san.”

Just faintly, Sunny _blushed_ , his cheeks and the tips of his ears going slightly red, before he snapped his face away, flustered and trying not to show it. Komatsu knew it wasn’t sunburn; Sunny had been too aggressive about applying sunscreen to both himself and Komatsu. “‘Matsu!”

“Komatsu-kun,” Coco started, before he fell silent, eyes dark like he was biting down on something complicated he didn’t quite know how to say.

When Komatsu turned to look, pulling away from the faint pinkness on Sunny’s elegant face, the other two were both watching him, something longing in their eyes. “Yeah, Coco-san?”

“...Nothing. Just, why don’t we go practice swimming now?”

“But--”

“Dishes,” Coco finished for him, wry.

Zebra interrupted before Coco could continue. “We’ll do the dishes,” he growled, reaching around Komatsu to clap Sunny threateningly on the shoulder.

Sunny shot Zebra a look of pure venom, before his gaze slipped down to Komatsu, and softened. “Fine,” he allowed, voice tight and a little pouty.

“I packed dish gloves,” Komatsu said hesitantly. “In your size, Sunny-san. I know it was maybe a bit presumptuous, but I thought if you did end up doing some dishes, you’d want something to save your hands--”

“‘Matsu,” Sunny said in a slightly hoarse whisper, drawn up short, and he stared blankly at Komatsu just long enough that Komatsu was just about to start worrying, when he swept down and seized Komatsu into a fierce, all-encompassing hug.

“Not that you should feel obligated,” Komatsu added. “I really don’t mind--”

“Not another word,” Zebra growled threateningly, and Sunny laughed, sounding just a little desperate.

“You didn’t bring gloves for yourself, did you,” Sunny said with another abbreviated bubble of laughter, pulling away just enough to grab Komatsu’s wrist with a hank of his hair, pulling Komatsu’s hand into his own. They both had callouses, but Komatsu’s skin was rough with dishwater, hard travel, while Sunny’s callouses were pumiced and lotioned smooth, his nails buffed and elegant ovals where Komatsu’s were cut practically short, occasionally torn, clean and useful but not beautiful.

“No,” Komatsu agreed cheerfully.

“ _‘Matsu!_ ”

“Really, Sunny-san, it’s fine. Here, let me grab the gloves for you--”

“No gloves for me?” Zebra said, appearing over Komatsu’s shoulder, a threat in his voice and posture. One huge hand curled around the junction of Komatsu’s neck, the huge scarred fingers a blunt threat around his delicate collarbone, trachea, spine. It would be as easy as thought for him to leave the chef, helpless, for dead.

“Do you _want_ gloves, Zebra-san?” Komatsu asked, rolling his eyes, still smiling as he leaned into the other man, tipping his head back to give Zebra a pointed look.

Zebra pouted, that was the only word for it--even if someone else wouldn’t be able to see it, past the aura of threat that Zebra exuded, past the scars and reputation and face made for scowling--and Komatsu gave up and laughed.

“Go swim with Coco,” Sunny chided him, pushing bossily at both him and Zebra with invisible feelers, digging through Komatsu’s pack for the gloves he’d brought.

“Okay, okay! But only because you won’t let me help with clean-up,” Komatsu allowed, pulling off his apron, stripping out of his shirt.

It felt like he was being watched again, but--he wasn’t sure why--either way it was fine. He trusted the Kings to keep him safe. He trusted them to know him as well as he knew them.

\------

After an hour of working on swimming, Komatsu was pleasantly tired, feeling the ache in muscles he wasn’t used to using; the lesson had dissolved into a splash fight. Komatsu was watching Coco mock-suspiciously, in-between gales of laughter, the two of them in water just shallow enough that Komatsu could keep his head above water by bouncing on his tiptoes, his body too dense with muscle to float easily. It was a little odd, looking at Coco so directly: the other man was in a little deeper, legs bent, and it left them of a height.

Coco was smiling back at him, wide and helpless and unrestrained, the way Coco so rarely was, and it was like something incandescent was lit in Komatsu’s chest.

Coco lifted an arm--Komatsu jumped back--and they both started laughing again as Coco pushed wet hair out of his face, shaking some of the salt water off, and like this, Komatsu couldn’t--wouldn’t--think of him as a King, because he _wasn’t_ , he was just Coco, just another person, playing in perfect crystalline water with a friend. Except “friend” didn’t seem like a strong enough word, and only Toriko was his partner--

Komatsu lost his train of thought as someone swamped him with a wave, leaving him spluttering before he could duck back up, laughing and blinking through the water in his eyes. “What--?” he began, letting his momentum carry him into Coco’s side, because he’d been _watching_ the other man, and it hadn’t been him who’d splashed him--

Komatsu caught himself on Coco’s arm, his skin almost shockingly warm after the chill of the ocean, and turned to watch a Friendly Seal laughing at him, clearly the trouble-maker who’d caught him off guard.

He had to laugh again, even though a glimpse at Coco’s face--open, amazed, like he still couldn’t believe that they’d ever approach him, hadn’t been warned away by instinct or intelligence--made his heart ache.

The two of them drifted for a moment, Komatsu letting Coco anchor him, and he realized that he’d never touched this much of Coco’s skin before. It was so rare for the man to take off his clothes, to keep himself less than completely covered. Komatsu hoped, desperately, that this was okay, for Coco’s sake (because the man was afraid of himself, almost as afraid of himself as he was of how people reacted to him) and also for his own.

But Coco’s body was loose and relaxed, less of a weapon and more just human, an easy happiness in his body, not the tension Komatsu had been half afraid of. He wanted to let Coco know that touch was okay, that he was safe, that he was _trusted_ to be safe even when Komatsu knew how dangerous he could be, and he wanted to do whatever he could to sate Coco’s touch-hunger, without also pushing him too far.

And it was a bit selfish. Komatsu was hyper-aware of where their skin was pressed together. The water trapped close between them was warmed with their body heat, the rest of his skin chilled where the cold current pulled away the warmth of the two of them.

Komatsu knew that Coco could see everything--in greater detail, in wavelengths of light that Komatsu, or anyone else, was incapable of seeing in the first place, his eidetic memory inking it indelibly into his brain in all that overwhelming detail--with just a glance, but when he looked up, Coco was staring at him with intensity, focus, like he was memorizing every slightest shift of expression. 

Komatsu’s breath caught in his throat, and then Coco was looking away, expression shifting to a smile that was--honest, but maybe just a little forced, not that hardly anyone would be able to tell. (Probably--probably just Komatsu would be able to tell that it was forced, Komatsu and Ichiryuu, and the other Kings--Komatsu hoped they could tell.)

“We probably shouldn’t leave Zebra-san and Sunny-san alone much longer,” Komatsu said, a little bit of regret, but not much--he couldn’t regret anything that meant more time with any of the Kings.

“At least they’re just sulking right now,” Coco said, a little bit of smug humor carefully hidden in his voice, enough to make Komatsu laugh out loud. “The island’s still standing.”

“Hey!” Zebra shouted from shore, overhearing of course, turning to glare at them, Sunny hissing as the booming shout woke him where he was basking in the sun.

“Maybe you spoke too soon,” Komatsu managed to get out through his giggles, and Coco started laughing, too, towing Komatsu back towards shore.

\-----

They walked inland that afternoon, following the cleared trail that wound through shrubs, patches of sand, outcroppings of rock. It was easy terrain, almost no elevation gain, weather hot but not extreme, and they moved slow, not even hiking so much as taking a casual walk, taking the time to explore everything around them.

There was no threat, no sense of any danger at all. The only animals were harmless: loud sea birds, the giant tortoises with rice-cracker scutes like ambling hills, a rainbow of land iguanas curled up on their clutches of jelly eggs, coconut or mango or green-tea or almond flavored.

It was strange, Komatsu thought. He was used to the wilderness, but only when there was some kind of threat, danger that he knew the Kings--that Toriko--would protect him from, but was nonetheless _there_. Here and now, the only way he could hurt himself was by harassing an otherwise indifferent iguana into snapping at him, or maybe by tripping over his own two feet. Not that he wasn’t also capable of that, but--it was different from the way things usually were.

The Kings--his companions--had no need to worry about him, no need to watch out for threats that they might not even recognize as such, they were so much more powerful than Komatsu was. ...at least they were better at it, now. It was, really, a miracle that Komatsu hadn’t died, those early days with Toriko. Or hadn’t died permanently, at least.

“Come _on_ , ‘Matsu!” Sunny huffed, turning to tug at Komatsu’s hand, apparently deciding that he’d spent long enough studying the tiny, vibrant fruits of wild neo-tomatoes.

“Sunny-san! We’re not in any hurry--”

“...fine,” Sunny said, dropping Komatsu’s hand with a resigned huff.

“It’s fine,” Komatsu told him, hurrying forward a few steps to reclaim Sunny’s hand, sneaking a glance at how Sunny’s theatrical pout turned into a small smile heavy with pure, rich pleasure. “You could go on ahead though, if you wanted! You don’t need to worry, here--even _I’d_ have trouble getting into trouble here.”

“If anyone could manage it, it’s you, Komatsu-kun,” Coco said, somewhere between long-suffering and incredibly fond.

Komatsu really couldn’t argue with him.

“It’s nice you don’t have to spend so much time looking out for me,” Komatsu said instead, dropping Sunny’s hand but still close enough that they bumped against each other, arm-to-shoulder and hip-to-leg.

The silence that descended was oddly tense. When Komatsu looked up from an anchovy dragon-fly’s silvery streamlined body, the Kings were watching him again, closely, something grim in Coco’s expression, worried in Sunny’s. Zebra wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Ehhh?”

“Komatsu-kun,” Coco began, before falling silent. “--Do you… Is it usually so bad?”

...what? Komatsu tried to make that make sense in his mind, couldn’t quite arrange it into something that he understood. “What? I don’t understand, Coco-san--is what usually so bad?”

“We know you’re fuckin’ afraid,” Zebra snapped. “When we’re out getting ingredients. How much does it _bother_ you?”

“I still don’t--I mean, Zebra-san, _all_ of you, you know that I’m afraid--but I trust you, too. More than anything!”

“I know,” Coco said, but there was something taut in his expression, something that stirred up unpleasant worry in the pit of Komatsu’s stomach. “But we could--there’s more places like here that we could--”

“Coco-san, I don’t think you--what I meant was, I’m happy that you don’t have to worry about me! You can just enjoy yourself--even when I’m afraid, I know I’m _safe_ , I’m always safe, the safest I could be, with you. I _know_. I’m glad that you don’t have to spend your time trying to keep an eye out for me, that you can enjoy yourselves too! That--that I can just _spend time with you._ ”

Sunny stirred, expression warring between relief and resignation and confusion.

“Fuckin’--” Zebra murmured, shoving a hand through his hair, apparently exasperated. “Komatsu, ya damn brat--do you really think I wouldn’t look after you if I didn’t _want_ to? Don’t be so fucking cocky!”

“Ahhh, sorry, Zebra-san! But--”

Sunny opened his mouth, closed it, glared, gestured vehemently at Coco in a way that demanded he _explain,_ immediately.

Komatsu interrupted--rude, he knew, but he wanted to make sure they knew. “I know you keep me safe, but--you shouldn’t have to pay attention. You shouldn’t have to keep that in mind, when you could--just enjoy yourself. The way I’m enjoying myself now? Just--just the four of us.”

That, at least, derailed Coco for a moment, expression tightening for a second as he visible went through and discarded a few things to say, before finally speaking up. “Komatsu-kun, even now--you’re safer here than you would be in the street outside the Hotel Gourmet, we know. But still, even here, even now, we’re paying attention. It’s not--it’s not a _chore_ , it’s just--part of being on a trip with you.”

Komatsu continued watching him, a wordless encouragement to continue, not sure he understood yet.

“It’s--Komatsu-kun, you don’t need to be stronger, or--be somewhere else, or be anything you’re _not_ , because we want _you_. Here with us,” Coco tacked on hurriedly, when Sunny appeared to choke on his own inhale.

“I know--Coco-san, I know. But you have to make so many allowances--”

“I don’t think you do know! Even--Komatsu, we’re always paying attention, not because we need to, but because--you’re part of it. That’s all we need.”

Komatsu thought he understood, or was just beginning to understand, but he wasn’t… It was still him they were looking out for.

Coco, catching his doubtful expression, huffed out a sigh, took a seat on an outcropping of rock that had enough room for the rest of them, Zebra sitting down on the ground to lean against the rock, shoulder leaning against Komatsu’s legs. “Komatsu--”

“The senses,” Sunny said, sotto voce.

“We _should_ do this more often. If you want us too--if you’d like us to accompany you even when you don’t need our protection. Because, any time with you is--precious. The four of us,” Coco began, not really an explanation--but it was. “Sight, touch, hearing, smell and taste--you know the four of us each embody one of the senses. My sight, Sunny’s touch, Zebra’s hearing.” Toriko’s name was unspoken, and it echoed in its absence. “And--taste, ‘to taste’ something requires feel and scent, and eating--you eat with the eyes, with all your senses. Taste can’t happen without the other four senses--but without ‘taste,’ the world would be flat, and--” Coco broke off, grim.

“Awful,” Sunny said flatly.

“...It’s not a matter of needing to look out for you,” Coco finished, trying to make Komatsu _understand_ something that wasn’t really logical. “It’s simply--of course we focus on you. Having _you_ is part of the pleasure of it.”

It almost felt like a--a declaration of love, Komatsu thought a little wildly, heart beating in his throat, tears prickling at his eyes. “Coco-san--”

Coco swallowed once, twice, managed a smile. “We look out for you even when we don’t need to,” he said.

“I fucking wouldn’t even if you _did_ need it, if I didn’t want to,” Zebra added in, subdued.

“I--” Komatsu began, feeling it hard enough to hurt, because they were saying he was _part of them_ , something as integral as taste--

Sunny made a sound of near-desperation and darted forward faster than Komatsu’s eyes could track, grabbing him into a fierce hug, yanking the others in, too, until Komatsu was surrounded by his Kings, by Coco and Sunny and Zebra, even Zebra going willingly, clinging to the other three, a slightly sweaty too-hot tangle in the late-afternoon equatorial sun, and perfect.

-End Chapter 5-


	6. Conversations in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long conversation in the near-dark, and all the vulnerability of the messiest emotions.

Komatsu shifted a little closer to Coco’s warmth, the coals of the fire casting less light than the full moon overhead, the cooling night pleasantly chill on skin still hot from a day of sun and cooking. They’d settled a little ways off the shore for dinner, a sailboat with their nighttime accommodations offshore, visible as a few smears of light on dark water.

When Coco shifted a little bit closer to him in turn, Komatsu knew his smile deepened into something that was incandescent and--he was still himself--probably a little bit ridiculous. But even though he knew Coco could see it in the darkening night, would be able to see him in any light, or a total absence of it, and that the other Kings probably could see him too, he couldn’t be self-conscious about it. Because Coco had moved _closer_ to him.

It took a great deal of effort not to reach out for Coco’s hand. But that--wasn’t something friends did, and there wasn’t the excuse of a life-or-death situation.

“It is nice to have things so peaceful for a change,” Komatsu admitted.

Zebra made a noise of wordless success, overlapping with Sunny’s cry of triumph.

“That wasn’t too hard to admit, was it?” Coco said, that smugness he usually kept so well-hidden appearing again, and Komatsu laughed helplessly, at them and at himself.

“I like the excitement, too!” Komatsu protested. “That’s _definitely_ true. It’s just--this is a nice change of pace.”

“You’re just so _helpless!_ ” Sunny wailed, crowding himself into Komatsu’s other side, ignoring Coco’s horror at his manners.

“ _Sunny!_ ”

“I mean, it’s kind of true,” Komatsu admitted, a little sheepishly. It _was_ true, would always be true compared to the Kings. Komatsu had more going for him than the average citizen now, true, but he was a chef. An unaugmented human. An occasionally clumsy and usually easily-distracted one.

“...Does Toriko ever do this kind of thing with you?” Zebra asked suddenly, weirdly intense. Bizarrely, the question made Sunny stiffen.

Komatsu stopped, blinked, straightened a bit, then shuffled closer into Coco, a deep and wordless appreciation in his chest when Coco wrapped his arm around him.

Maybe it wasn’t something friends normally did, but there was very little about Komatsu’s life right now that was normal, and the contact meant--everything. He hadn’t even realized how skin-hungry he’d been, until his relationship with Toriko had started to relax, until they had started to touch more. And the night was getting cold, he excused himself, even if he knew that it was a transparent reason, at best.

“You don’t have to answer that,” Coco said urgently, voice low to give at least the illusion of privacy.

“...do what?” Komatsu asked, mostly a stall, a little bit because he wasn’t sure what, exactly, the question was.

Zebra shrugged, grumpy, uncommunicative, _tense_ , and Komatsu couldn’t help but answer.

“I… think it needs to be. More professional. For a while.”

Coco’s hand squeezed his shoulder gently, and Sunny’s hand stroked lightly down his hair, odd but soothing. Komatsu took a deep breath, tried to keep it from being too shaky, failed.

“For a while, I thought it might be something--more? I know it doesn’t sound likely,” his laugh was a little bitter, because he knew how dull and ordinary and _plain_ he was next Toriko, despite their partnership, their serendipitous understanding of each other, the seamless way they worked, like one hand with the other. “But I, I understand.”

Komatsu looked up when Zebra made noise that was half irritation, half confusion. But he knew he needed to keep talking, to get this out now. While he could. Even if it had already gone off-track. “He’s not--I know it’s so _selfish_ , to want more from him, especially when he’s just not interested--because I appreciate our partnership so much! It means--so much, it means _everything_ to me, he changed my life, it’s--even knowing you, that wouldn’t have happened without him! And I can’t imagine, I don’t _want_ to imagine, living without you anymore.”

“It’s not _just_ business, because--there’s no way it could be, with the way we work together,” Komatsu said. “But our relationship, it’s a working relationship? Not--because it doesn’t mean anything, but the part of it he likes most is the adventurous part, is the ingredients--and I understand! Mostly. It’s--incredible working with him. But I… You know what I’m like, right? I just--couldn’t keep my feelings out of things. And I _know_ he doesn’t want me, really, not romantically--and when…”

Komatsu caught on a breath, and blinked rapidly to try and keep the tears from gathering in his eyes. He looked up, a little surprised to discover the intensity the Kings were watching him with, a little confused by the obvious tension in the corded muscle of Zebra’s shoulders, neck, jaw, the way that Sunny seemed to be physically holding his mouth shut with a white-knuckled hand pressed over it, hair fanned out around him like he expected a physical attack, a far cry from the relaxed updo he’d had most of their time on the island.

“Sorry,” Komatsu managed, trying for a smile. He probably failed, he knew, based off of the minute flinch he felt from Coco.

“...I’m off-topic,” he tried. “I just meant, we go out to work--that’s the kind of relationship we have. So--sometimes it’s like this, relaxed, but he doesn’t--the only time Toriko’s in the Hotel Gourmet is right before we leave on a trip, or if we come back to prepare something. And I never really expected to see him for my birthday, that’s part of why _this_ was such a surprise, because…”

Komatsu trailed off, tried to find a way to say what should have been obvious without spilling too much information, giving them unnecessary detail.

“I’m a chef? You know--Sunny, when we first met--the best part of me is my cooking.”

“No,” Coco ground out, sounding _angry_ , angry enough to make Komatsu jump, startled.

In a whirl of movement, he was being slammed back into Coco’s chest, vision in front of him obscured by a whirl of rainbow pastel hair, Sunny suddenly _right in front of him_ , eyes shining bright with rage and--tears?

“Sunny?” Komatsu asked, dumbfounded.

“No! _No_ , the best part--’Matsu, _you’re_ the best part of yourself--how could you _say that?_ ”

“...okay?” Komatsu agreed, baffled.

With a rumbled growl, Zebra thrust his arm into the pile of them, insistent and a little rough as he covered the whole bottom half of Komatsu’s head with one huge calloused hand. “Don’t you _fucking dare,_ ” Zebra snarled, loud enough and with enough bass undertones to make grains of sand dance around them. “Say that about yourself, you _cocky bastard_ \--”

“I fell--it turned into a crush,” Komatsu blurted out. “I just--I knew--I tried not to, but it was… It was _Toriko_ , and I thought it wasn’t just me, but--he knew, of course he knew, with his sense of smell, it must have been--even more obvious than I normally am.” Komatsu was not a subtle man, had never had any success at all in keeping his emotions hidden even a little. “So we--tried, I guess,” and his voice was cracking, because he’d thought the sex had been amazing.

“What,” Coco said, sounding somewhere between terribly confused and suspicious.

“I should have talked about it, before,” Komatsu said, trying to curl in on himself, covering his eyes to try and hide the tears--it had been a long time since he’d been this torn up about it, but--he hadn’t told anyone about it before, either. He hadn’t told _anyone_ , let alone the other Kings, who were--just as incredible as Toriko was. “Because I--I’m not any good at casual sex? When he--when he kissed me, I just… I didn’t think. But it was just--as friends. I understand it! It was--weeks, just the two of us, it would have been convenient--if I didn’t have feelings for him. Romantic ones. And I should have known that it wasn’t like that, because I’m me, and he’s--himself, and I knew,” Komatsu’s voice broke, to his embarrassment, weak and faltering. “I knew better, but I didn’t clarify anyway, and I just--maybe it’s easier, if it’s a working relationship. Because I want to--to cook for him, of course, and have him over all the time, _be with him_ , romance and sex and _everything else_ , but--”

“Shut up,” Zebra snarled, and Sunny flinched right along with Komatsu, both of them startled.

“Zebra,” Coco hissed, sounding absolutely venomous.

“What _exactly_ happened?” Zebra demanded, and Komatsu flinched again, going bright red with embarrassment verging on humiliation.

“ _Zebra!_ Don’t--Komatsu, you don’t need to--”

“We had sex,” Komatsu mumbled, through his hands covering his face, voice wavering, ignoring Coco no matter how badly he wanted to take the out. “Toriko kissed me one night, and I couldn’t make myself ask what it meant while he was kissing me, and we had sex. And the next morning, he--he made sure I knew that it was just a, a casual thing. And I should have--I should have checked before, because I can’t _do that_ , not with anyone, not with Toriko especially--and I should have known that nobody like him would like me like that, nobody like _you_ , and it would have been nice if I could have just--let it be that. Friends with benefits? But I couldn’t do that to myself. So that was the end of it. It’s--more professional that way.” Komatsu swallowed, a little convulsively, forced his hands to his sides, tried not to clench his hands into fists and failed. He stared at them instead, instead of looking at any of the three Kings surrounding him. “Toriko understood when I told him--and agreed it would be better to keep our relationship,” a hard swallow, “--more professional.”

The silence stretched on, until Komatsu felt compelled to speak again, trying to make the whole terrible conversation, the sudden tension, _okay_ again. “It would have been easier--better--if I hadn’t developed any feelings at all,” Komatsu said, hoarse. “I know. I should have--I never should have let anything happen.”

He couldn’t make himself look up.

“I’m going to kill him,” Zebra said, almost softly.

“...what?” Komatsu wasn’t--he had no idea where the conversation was going. It just--didn’t make _sense_.

“Komatsu,” Coco said, a little thickly. “I’m--I don’t want to do this, but my emotional state--I don’t think I can touch you right now.”

Komatsu moved so fast it felt a little bit like levitation. Not because he _wanted_ to, but because he didn’t want to make Coco uncomfortable. “Sorry,” he managed, face burning again, wondering if he’d fucked up this too--because he hadn’t _said_ anything about his feelings for the other Kings, but--he wasn’t subtle. They might not be able to smell the want on him the way Toriko was able to, but…

“I wish I could,” Coco said, voice audibly raw. “Just--not while I’m this agitated. Later.”

“Only if you want,” Komatsu managed, wondering if he was going to cry again. Probably, yeah.

“I always do,” Coco said, reaching out and stopping just shy, then stepping away.

Coco shooed Zebra in to fill his spot, hands shining a little too slickly in the firelight, and for once, Zebra went quietly, until Komatsu was wedged even more tightly between Zebra and Sunny. No doubt they could feel him shaking--not a new experience, not when they faced the sorts of things they faced and Komatsu was who he was, but he didn’t know if they’d seen him this emotional before. Not over something so personal, definitely.

He couldn’t control his small, stifled sob when Zebra reached out his hand to take Komatsu’s, squeezing it comfortingly tightly, despite--all of this. Even knowing he shouldn’t take advantage of this, there wasn’t anything that could have kept him from squeezing back. Clinging to that little bit of support. When Sunny took his other hand, the tears spilled over, wringing a small, distressed noise out of Sunny.

“Sorry,” Komatsu repeated, not even sure what for--other than all of this. It would have been so much _easier_ if his emotions were simpler. If he wasn’t the sort of person who could fall for four men at once, and hope despite himself that some sort of miracle would happen. Not just once, but four times over. Even after he’d had the inevitable result of it thrown in his face.

At least he hadn’t lost his partnership with Toriko. Maybe he wouldn’t lose--all of this, either.

“‘Matsu, no, don’t apologize,” Sunny said, sounding gutted, and it was so much like earlier on in the trip--no sorries, no thank-yous--that Komatsu couldn’t help but laugh, even if it was brokenly. “I--Toriko _doesn’t want you?_ ”

“Not the way I want him,” Komatsu said, a small, weighty confession. “I should have known--”

“No,” Coco said sharply. “He acts like he wants you--wants you _romantically_ \--he’s like that with _nobody else_ \--and only a fool would see your partnership as _strictly professional_. I had not been aware that Toriko was a fool, but--Komatsu. What he did isn’t _right._ ”

“Just because _I_ can’t handle casual sex--” Komatsu started, a little incensed, determined to protect his partner even here and now. Because no matter how much Komatsu hurt, it was ultimately _his fault_.

“He should have known better than to jump into bed with you without discussing anything,” Coco said, cold and furious. “That was just as much on his shoulders as on yours! And more than that, more than anything, he should have known that there were complicating emotions _on both sides_ which is obvious--”

“Toriko’s not the one _crying_ ,” Sunny hissed, as venomous as Coco’s poison.

“And you’re better than him,” Zebra said, with lethal certainty.

“I’m an easily-scared crybaby, skilled in the kitchen but not world-class, moderate physical ability, and very little to offer in terms of looks,” Komatsu pointed out, baffled.

“Yeah, _and?_ ” Zebra snarled, at his most threatening.

“...And even more than that. He let you think you weren’t _good enough_. That’s not acceptable!” Coco said, finally. “That’s what it is. He let you think it was personal, he--he _led you on_ maybe, he let you shoulder all the blame _the way you always do._ You could have asked, you could have said no, but--he could have, too. He initiated, without a conversation?”

Komatsu nodded, bowed his head. That was what had happened. He hadn’t had the will to say no. He’d thought… He’d thought it was a natural step in their relationship, that they were on the same page, that sex would mean something the way their partnership meant something, to both of them.

“He just _threw away_ everything I want!” Sunny snapped.

Komatsu flinched, breathed, tried to make that make sense.

“...Sunny?”

“Oh fuck,” Sunny said, barely more than a breath.

“Don’t do this now, you _absolute fucker_ ,” Zebra demanded, sounding suddenly terribly afraid.

“Oh no,” Coco said, gripping hard enough at his own clasped arms that the flesh was white around his fingers.

“Are you--making fun of me?” Komatsu said, trying not to sound like his heart was breaking. “A--a joke? Because--I don’t know if you know I’m polyamorous, but it’s--I understand, I don’t want it to be a problem, I won’t _let_ it be a problem, I don’t--” he was pleading, he realized, and he broke off, took a few shuddering breaths until he managed to get himself almost under control again.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he tried. Still pleading. “I--it’s just impossible. For me not to lo--like you. In every way.”

Coco made a noise of pure pain, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Komatsu--no, never, we--you _are_ worth more than your skill as a chef, you’re worth more than Toriko, you’re--irreplaceable and I--”

“Polyamorous,” Sunny repeated, sounding like he was seeing the light breaking at the end of a tunnel he thought he’d never escape from.

“Polyamorous and pansexual,” Komatsu managed, nervous despite himself. Because this conversation had gone wrong before. And he didn’t think the Kings would hold that against him--but he’d been wrong before.

“What does that even mean?” Zebra demanded. “No--that doesn’t fucking matter right now. Where the _hell_ does Toriko get the idea that he could be _so fucking cocky_ as to let you think that you’re--that you--”

“I’m _me_ ,” Komatsu said, voice strangled with something like desperation. “It’s just--nobody let me or made me think I was anything, just--Toriko, people like Toriko, people like _you,_ can do better than me.”

The silence was ringing, and Komatsu felt tears gathering in his eyes again. Because it was true, but that didn’t make it _easy_.

Coco made a strangled noise, and when Komatsu turned to look at him, he flinched when he realized that he was _tearing up_ , tears in his eyes, cloudy purple and no doubt lethal--he was wiping them up with a spare length of bandage--but still undeniably there.

“No, Coco, I’m sorry--”

Coco looked beseechingly at Sunny, and Sunny shook his head, mutely, hands still tight over his mouth.

“Don’t you fuckin’--” Zebra started, looking panicked, and Komatsu’s hands tightened almost convulsively, nails biting into his palm. “Kid--no, Komatsu--”

“Zebra?” Komatsu managed, voice tight.

He’d opened up about what had gone wrong with Toriko. He’d--not even hinted, so much as said that he had even more unlikely crushes on them. _All_ of them. Even the people who weren’t overtly homophobic sometimes reacted badly to a man having a crush on _them_. Even the gay ones sometimes objected to someone like Komatsu having a crush, and--Komatsu didn’t really _know_ about any of the Kings’ orientations, not even Sunny--he was a gay icon, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. It wouldn’t be surprising, either way. If he was gay, and if he was offended by Komatsu thinking he had a chance. And even if they were fine with Komatsu, with Komatsu having a crush--the polyamory was usually a deal-breaker. Komatsu _understood_. But he was also starting to feel like he was unraveling.

The new distance in his relationship with Toriko--the drifting away from the point where he’d thought they would be converging--that had been hard, even though he’d known it was _necessary_. And he didn’t know how he’d handle this, too. Especially after--all this.

God. Maybe they’d let him--go home early, if they couldn’t just pretend none of this had happened. He couldn’t bear days more spent with the three Kings, if it meant everything that had been easy and comfortable--or _flirtatious_ , he realized, the thought making him suddenly sick to his stomach--warped into something uncomfortable.

He couldn’t imagine what it would take to stop _touching them_ all the time, all the little harmless (not-so-harmless) touches he participated in just instinctually. But he… he needed to, didn’t he. If anything was going to be okay again.

Zebra was looking at him with something between fear and distaste in his eyes, and Komatsu flinched even further into himself.

“Komatsu. _‘Matsu_. Stop it. Stop--”

“Sorry,” Komatsu gasped out. “I’ll just--sorry,” he wasn’t even sure what he needed to stop, but it was _something_ , there had to be something he could do now.

“No! No, just--calm down, your heart is--”

Self-consciously, Komatsu pressed a hand over his heart. He couldn’t feel it beating, but he knew it was--too fast, almost panicked, drumbeat-loud to Zebra, maybe unignorable even in a situation where there was no need for Zebra to monitor his physical condition for his own safety.

“Sorry,” he repeated, almost more a puff of breath than words. Sorry for all of it: his feelings, for letting things get so out of control, for having his all come out so messily, for ruining a trip that would otherwise have been perfect.

“No, fuck--it’s not that! _Damn it,_ Komatsu, we’re not fucking upset with _you_! You just--we’re mad at _Toriko_!”

“I’m not sure that helps, Zebra,” Komatsu managed. “You--that’s my fault, too, you shouldn’t be mad at him--”

Sunny made a noise of aggravation so utterly, gut-level frustrated that it startled Komatsu.

“We love you, you dumbass!” Zebra roared--in the distance, Komatsu could hear the sudden flap of birds taking flight, startled out of the trees by Zebra’s voice, loud in the echoing silence that followed.

“What?” Komatsu managed to say, his words sounding weirdly flat even to his own ears--because of the too-loud shout, because of shock, he didn’t know. Both, probably.

“...We love you,” Zebra repeated, softer this time, voice soft and husky in a way that was terribly, awfully _vulnerable_ , not at all like but still too reminiscent of after a hard fight, when he’d stressed his voice and throat past the point it could bear. “--Like. We like you a lot. I--I might love you, don’t know how you fuckin’ did it, but--you cook for _us_. We’re just--people with you. Better people than we are. And you’re--you, you fuckin’--Komatsu, you’re _incredible_. Every--every part of you. I don’t know what weird shit is going on with Toriko, but--you’re never gonna be _just_ anything and I. Never wanted any mushy romance bullshit before you, but _you_ \--”

Komatsu was shaking.

“...do you mean it?” Komatsu made himself ask, terribly upset with the way his voice was thin and shaking, small and scared.

“I wouldn’t _lie_ to you,” Zebra shouted, his expression a terrible mix of anger and upset.

“I know,” Komatsu managed to say. “I _know_ , Zebra, it’s not you, I trust _you_ , I just don’t--”

“‘Matsu,” Sunny said, horrified. “‘Matsu, _no_. You--you’re precious, and--the most beautiful thing.”

“It’s just not _true_ , though,” Komatsu said, not quite pleading, not quite confused, somewhere between the two.

“...are you implyin’ that there is something wrong with my _taste_ , Komatsu?” Sunny snapped, apparently trying to glare, but the expression a little too watery to be at all believable. At least now that Komatsu knew him.

“N--maybe?” Komatsu tried.

“Because your taste is--almost acceptable, _most of the time_ , your food taste is almost perfect, but my taste is impeccable. Beyond reproach. _And I say you are lovely._ ”

“...beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Coco offered. He sounded--tenuous, too. Nervous, afraid, his voice not at all his normal steadfast tenor.

“To a point?” Komatsu said. “There are still--objective truths.”

“But there’s so much more to you than that--Komatsu, you are incredible. And incredibly precious to me. Not just romantically--although it surprised me, when that happened. How much I wanted to kiss you. I’d never _wanted_ that badly before. All of it, you and your smile and your laughter and--affection. That you have always given so freely. And it is selfish and--”

“Coco, no, you’re not selfish--not in this, not _anything_. Not this especially! It’s--I know, I _know_ what it’s like to think that you’re, wrong somehow--”

“Your sexuality will not hurt someone you love,” Coco cut in, harsh.

“...I really, really want to hug you,” Komatsu mumbled, clinging harder to Zebra’s hand in an attempt to keep from reaching out to the other man.

“I wish you could too,” Coco murmured, sounding unbearably defeated. “Later. I--later. If you don’t mind.”

“ _Never_ ,” Komatsu said. “I--I promise, if I ever don’t want to touch you, I’ll tell you. But that hasn’t happened yet, Coco. I always want to hug you. Always want to k-kiss you.”

Sunny made a noise of desperate want, and had to practically tear his eyes away from Komatsu’s mouth, part his usual dramatics--part, Komatsu knew, the real vulnerability he could see in his eyes.

“...You too,” Komatsu whispered. “I--both of you. All of you. And Toriko. I know I have no right to ask, but--this doesn’t feel like it could be real? Because I want this so _bad_ , and it’s not just--a one-night stand--it’s not, is it? Is--”

“No,” Zebra spat. Absolute and final. For once, Sunny’s smooth and elegant features mirrored Zebra’s in a furious snarl.

“...I couldn’t imagine more than a one-time thing, most of the time,” Komatsu admitted. “I want--it’s like a hallucination? Some kind of trap?”

“I’ll just kiss you until you believe,” Sunny announced, but he couldn’t hide the vulnerability in his voice and eyes, under the huffiness and bravado and posturing.

“...all of you? You’re not--”

“I don’t know if I consider myself polyamorous,” Coco said, a little desperate too. His hands were fisted into the bandages wrapping his arms, picking at a loose thread mindlessly. “I’ve never given much thought to my sexuality at all. But--I couldn’t not _try_. For you. And I--I have never doubted how much you care for me. I’m not very worried about jealousy, when I know that the--the constant in my life is you, Komatsu.”

“...It might go terribly wrong,” Komatsu whispered. “I’m not… worth it.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Zebra hissed. “Of course you are! You--Komatsu, you--nobody has ever treated me like you before. Nobody has _ever_ seen--just me. A person. And _still liked me_.”

“That doesn’t make sense, either,” Komatsu protested, and he was--well, crying again. Crying, and smiling helplessly through his tears. “I don’t know how _anyone_ could not love you.”

“That’s how we feel about you!” Sunny cried out, throwing his hands in the air, the absolute picture of frustration.

“ _Dumbass_ ,” added in Zebra--probably aimed at Komatsu, or maybe at both him and Sunny.

“...really?”

“Really,” Coco said, aiming a smile at him that was tremulous and gorgeous and nothing at all like the smile his fans had fallen for.

“...You like all of us?” Sunny asked, after a moment of silence, and his fragility was heartbreaking.

“Sunny--Sunny, you’re _beautiful_ , you’re--passionate, and you see so much beauty in everything else--of course I love you. All of you! Zebra, you care so _much_. You take care of me, I trust you--with my life, with anything. I…”

Carefully, Komatsu lifted his hand, fingers still entwined with Zebra’s, and pulled it up to press a kiss into the scarred back of Zebra’s hand. Next to him, eyes wide and entranced, Sunny gasped in a breath, one that was only released when Komatsu turned to do the same with his.

Coco was watching them with longing. “I--yours will have to wait, Coco,” Komatsu told him, heart torn in too many places at once. “But I--can I kiss you on the mouth? First?”

Coco shuddered, half fear, half longing want. “Yes,” he managed to say. “ _Yes_. Once it’s safe. As safe as it will ever be.”

“Nothing you’re uncomfortable with,” Komatsu promised him. And then, on a whim, blew a kiss at Coco, Sunny slipping closer as his hand was freed. He couldn’t help but laugh when Coco caught the kiss, and blew one back, his smile saying that he knew it was ridiculous, but also that he was still touched.

“Fucking dorks,” Zebra muttered, but when Komatsu blew a kiss at _him_ , he leaned in to ghost a kiss--dry, chapped lips, the lines of scars, a too-big smile--along Komatsu’s cheek.

“We should talk about the rest of this tomorrow,” Coco said carefully.

“I’m hungry,” Zebra announced. But made no move to get up, or do anything else about it.

“We can head out to the boat,” Sunny declared, pulling Komatsu up--and offering a hand to Zebra, too. A hand that Zebra took. “Picnics are all well and good, but _I’m_ sleeping on a mattress tonight, and I want dessert and hot choc’late first.”

Hand in hand with Sunny and Zebra, as close to Coco as he could safely be, the four of them went down to the water, where there was a rowboat waiting to take them over to their accommodations for the night.

**End Chapter 6**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and now maybe the title makes a bit more sense? This is the direction this story has always been heading in. Toriko and Komatsu's Relationship: Weirdly Emotionally Loaded, And Everyone Knows It, But Maybe Not To What Degree.
> 
> Thank you so, SO much for all of your incredibly kind support and feedback. It means the world to me, and I am hearting in your direction. ♥ ♥ ♥


	7. Kisses

There were lines of light spreading out from the dip of the oars as Sunny rowed them back, hair fastidiously knotted up out of the way and back flexing with easy grace as he pushed them effortlessly across the water. It was phosphorescent plankton, and Komatsu wished he could appreciate it as they went. But he was shaky with adrenaline and still sick with--insecurity, uncertainty, because it didn't seem real.

He dipped one hand into the water, knowing he was safe with the Kings, no matter what lurked in the ink-dark water stretching fathomlessly beneath them, and let his fingers trail through it, swirls of light spreading out where his fingers disturbed the tiny organisms, made them shine in their distress

He was still shaking, just slightly. And he couldn't bring himself to reach out his hand and hold onto anything more--emotionally complex than the wood of the boat's side, because he couldn't. Couldn't stand the thought of reaching out and having his hand pushed away. Or of the Kings feeling obligated to take it. He knew that most people wouldn't think them capable of it, no matter what, but--Komatsu knew their kindness. He knew.

The silence around them was tense and miserable. Or maybe that was just Komatsu, who felt dehydrated and cried-out, nose still stuffy despite the handkerchief Coco had produced, feeling rubbed raw in a way he rarely did these days. It was like an anchor strapped to him, after days feeling as light as the balloon that had brought them here.

Coco was huddled in the bow, careful to keep as much distance as possible from the rest of the boat even though his poison had been contained again, once more under his conscious control. ...Komatsu felt a sudden little stab of guilt; had it been his fault that Coco had lost control in the first place?

Sunny kept on looking at him and then away, eyes lingering on his hands, his face, the tight curl of his shoulders. Zebra was staring away from all of them.

"I really didn't know," Komatsu said, voice rough. "I thought--I didn't realize it would be that hard for you. To say something." 

Komatsu had made the conscious decision to think of the Kings as human. He tried to remember that they had the same needs and fears and wants as anyone else, things that couldn’t be satisfied with physical or even emotional strength. He tried, but he’d failed them this time, simply because it was ludicrous to think of the three of them nervous of _Komatsu’s_ judgement.

"It's not about _us_ ," Coco said, with a wince. "It's--it shouldn't be."

"I thought we were _waiting_ ," Sunny said, all casual disgust and a carefully curled lip explaining exactly what he thought of that idea. Or maybe of just being told what to do. Or maybe something else. For once, Komatsu didn't know if he could guess at the other's mood, his words.

"I don't know if I'll be able to sleep," Komatsu confessed.

"Hot chocolate," Zebra said pointedly. "And dessert. And _you_ fuckers aren't making me the spokesman this time around."

"Sorry," Coco said, looking away again--he did look ashamed, almost.

When Komatsu turned to look back at Zebra, he saw the other King wince, equally uncomfortable.

They were all out of their depth. Lost at sea. Except that they--three of them, at least--could face shipwreck and sea monsters and any other challenge that was thrown at them and come out ahead anyway, and this--honestly--probably scared them more than any of those things would. For once, Komatsu could sympathize. He felt hollowed out, gutted, like someone had ripped him open and pulled out the core of him and left some alien hope in its place.

He wanted to be happy, but he was too afraid, fear once again dogging him as he followed in the Kings’ wake.

They drifted into the dark shadow on the far side of the boat, dark enough to leave Komatsu blind even with his eyes adjusted for the faint light of the moon and stars glittering off the waves. In the darkness, the wake of the boat was dazzling. Below, he could see the blurred, phosphorescent trails where squid and fish cut through the water.

Zebra muttered something, the little subsonic noises that Komatsu knew as his version of echolocation, letting him ‘see’ even in darkness. Sunny, of course, could feel everything for twenty feet around them, in more detail than Komatsu would be able to see even in full daylight, and the darkness made no difference to Coco at all. He was blind, surrounded by these men, and still felt safe. No matter what, no matter how much had changed.

“C’mon,” Zebra muttered, and the boat shifted as he stood, effortlessly keeping his bulk balanced against the lapping waves. Komatsu reached out blindly, and he was boosted up onto the deck of their boat, blinking in sudden torchlight. The dinghy’s painter was apparently tying itself--Sunny at work--and the skeleton staff crewing the boat had left out a spread of snacks and desserts, chilled pitchers of juices and a few--no doubt carefully chosen to pair well with the desserts--bottles of wine. When something was organized even in part by Sunny, it was a safe assumption that attention had been paid to every single detail, that everything would be perfect.

Komatsu let go of of Zebra’s hand, where he’d been steadying himself, and felt the loss like a blow.

He was still waiting for this to go wrong. Still waiting for this to end like it had with Toriko, or worse--because it couldn’t be real. _Could not_. And he hadn’t gotten to have the kind of relationship he wanted with Toriko, even though it was-- _Toriko_ , his partner, his other half, like one hand with the other.

Of course, it had been a little harder, lately. His own fault, but that just made it worse.

Komatsu took a seat on the padded benches the food was set up next to, curling in on himself. The night air was chilly, or maybe just in contrast to the heat of the day and skin still flushed from the sun, and he wanted to curl up into someone’s side, but he also couldn’t bring himself to do so, even though--maybe because--he now had a kind of implicit permission, at least some evidence that the Kings--the Kings minus Toriko--would enjoy it, too. Couldn’t bring himself to do so even though he had before, without much thought. And it _had_ been thoughtless.

He wondered how transparent he’d been, in his longing.

Zebra flopped heavily down, a few seats away, and then scooted closer, looking away from Komatsu, face turned down into a terrible scowl, terribly awkward.

It was so _strange_ to see Zebra--any of the Kings, really, except for Coco, who was always terribly aware of his body, obvious once Komatsu knew to look--so self conscious of his physicality.

“Can I--” Komatsu started, looking over at giant man next to him, and then stalling out, gesturing helplessly.

Zebra responded by glaring even harder, looking away, and reaching out to grab Komatsu’s collar one-handed, and bodily yank him to his side. It was hard to tell in the flickering ruddy light from the torches, but Komatsu thought he might be blushing.

“Always,” Zebra finally managed, his voice rough, not like it was after a major battle but like he was fighting to get the words out. “...Not like I couldn’t _make_ you back off if I wanted to.”

That was… irrevocably true. But…

Komatsu let his hand creep over to Zebra’s, not lacing their fingers together--the size difference between their hands made that functionally impractical--but letting his hand slip over Zebra’s, mirroring the curve, the scars slick lines between rough stripes of skin.

“But I don’t want to make you do that,” Komatsu said finally. “So I’d rather ask.”

“Just fuckin’ do it and I’ll tell you if I don’t want you to!” Zebra rumbled, glare turning towards Komatsu--then going strangely soft and open, _vulnerable_ in a way that Komatsu knew almost everyone in the world would never believe he was capable of--at whatever he saw. “...But. Thanks.” Zebra’s mouth worked, like he was trying to say something else, but he stayed silent.

“I can...assume I have permission unless you tell me otherwise?”

Zebra nodded, shortly, sharply.

Komatsu knew how little people took Zebra’s thoughts into consideration, how little time he was given as a _person_ instead of a force of nature. He knew, and he always asked Zebra about things he was totally capable of enforcing, because he shouldn’t _have to_ , shouldn’t have to physically defend his own boundaries just because he was more than physically capable of it. But, but…

But Komatsu also knew how little people treated Zebra like someone they were comfortable with, someone who was _safe_ , because he was, in so many ways, patently dangerous.

But Komatsu trusted him to hold himself back. More than trusted him. Or to--to not want to cause destruction in the first place, not in these circumstances.

“Okay,” Komatsu said, shortly, simply, and he curled up into Zebra’s side, let his head fall against the other man’s arm.

The breath that Zebra let out was shuddery with relief, and Komatsu made himself ignore it, no matter how much it hurt.

“Thank you,” Komatsu said instead, very quietly.

“What’d I fuckin’ say about--”

“Let me finish please? I--I mean it. Thank you for talking. Back there.” Komatsu squeezed Zebra’s hand, comfortingly. “It’s… I know how hard it is. Talking. ...I didn’t. With Toriko.”

“...One of the others would have done a better job.”

“But you were the one who actually did it!” Komatsu said. “That’s the _important_ thing. The… I was afraid I’d ruined anything, you know.”

Zebra growled at him, enough to vibrate through his bones.

“Use your words,” Sunny sniffed, flouncing into the seat next to Komatsu, throwing an arm around him--although he was, Komatsu noticed, couldn’t help but notice, not quite making eye contact--and poking pointedly with one finger at Zebra.

“I already did because _you weren’t fucking talking!_ ”

Sunny made a moue of disgust, but it was, Komatsu thought, mixed with shame.

“...Before, and now. Not talking, and then talking, to you. I thought I had ruined it.” Komatsu had to say that, had to make sure they understood, how hard words could be--how afraid he was of losing this, of losing them, even now.

“Eat some dessert,” Sunny ordered, but his expression was anguished, what Komatsu could see of it, from his angle looking up. Not that Komatsu could or would move, pressed between the two Kings, all of them tense with unspoken emotion, the lingering adrenaline, the sense that everything was falling apart, despite it all.

“Water,” Zebra said, forcefully.

“--No, no, you’re right, water first, proper hydration for health _and_ beauty--” Sunny gestured at them vaguely, concerned and still maybe a little ashamed. It was true, Komatsu felt dehydrated, head heavy with the throbbing ache that followed crying.

The glass of water that was pushed into his hands was delicious, cool and satisfying in the way that only water could be. He drank it gratefully, thinking about Zebra’s throat after a battle, his increased need for water (or juice, or milk, or tea, or blood--anything to provide hydration) markedly above baseline, just not as pronounced as Coco’s. Thinking about Zebra and Sunny and Coco--and Toriko--looking after him the way he tried to look after them.

And he was still afraid, but there was also hope.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to operating on the knife-edge of adrenaline, after all. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what it was, to throw your life into one wild chance. But he never _had_ stopped being afraid.

For once, though, the Kings--his Kings--were just as afraid as he was, and that made it worse, and maybe a little bit better.

Coco reappeared, the lines on his face deepened with stress. Still, something in his taut expression softened when he met Komatsu’s eyes, something delicate.

Komatsu ached to reach out to him. But he hesitated.

“I--can I--?”

Carefully, so carefully that it made Komatsu want to cry, Coco reached out to him, like he was waiting for Komatsu to back away, to stick to the relative safety--if you could call it that, really--of Sunny and Zebra. But they were both just as potentially deadly to Komatsu as Coco was, _all_ of them could kill him with no more effort than the thought it took, and Komatsu reached out, flinging himself into Coco’s arms.

Coco caught him easily, kneeling to catch him, and buried his face in Komatsu’s chest, arms clinging tight around him. Komatsu would have thought he was crying, but he knew that Coco would never let him that close when he was that emotional, when there was that much potential for him to end up poisoned.

That hurt, too.

Komatsu clutched him close, trying his best to make Coco feel sheltered, protected, the way he’d always made Komatsu feel. And then tugged him up, carefully, Coco relaxing his grip so they were closer to face-to-face, and he pressed a dry kiss to Coco’s lips, very carefully, waiting for Coco to pull away.

The gentle sigh Coco let out was just faintly bitter, not _emotionally_ bitter but in taste, like strong plain tea, wild dandelion greens, the little African eggplants called bitter tomato, nyanya chungu.

Coco pressed back into the kiss, lips still firmly closed, and Komatsu let himself relax, eyes closing, finally pulling away only to lean back in to pepper kisses over Coco’s face, the corner of his lips, the tip of his nose, the pulse point in his throat.

Zebra and Sunny were watching them with avid interest, and Komatsu blushed, just a little--still not sure _why_ they would be interested in him, why they would find him as compelling to look at as he found them.

“Let me get you something to eat,” Coco said quietly, pulling his eyes away from Komatsu’s face like it was hard to do. He pushed Komatsu back to the empty spot between the other two Kings as he headed for the table of food, and Komatsu immediately turned pleading eyes towards Sunny and then Zebra, wordlessly trying to make them understand--

When Coco turned back around, plates for himself and Komatsu and--Zebra, Komatsu guessed, since Sunny was serving himself his own plate from his seated position, eyes closed and mouth in a thoughtful pout as his feelers brushed over the offerings--he blinked, looking at the space pointedly left between Sunny and Komatsu, sized just right for the second-smallest King.

Komatsu tried not to look too hopeful. Sneaking a glance over to his side, he could see Sunny blushing just faintly, and it was so cute, that unexpected shyness that Sunny sometimes let slip, that it was almost effervescent, bubbling up in him in unexpected, unbelievable joy.

When Coco carefully slipped into the empty spot, Zebra let his arm fall over Komatsu’s shoulder, heavy and definite and so far from threatening, squeezing roughly at Coco’s shoulder. He was surrounded by these men, these monsters, and they were all trying so very hard, and he was so desperately grateful for it.

“Better?” Komatsu asked, and Coco managed a smile, one that felt genuine even though it was still a little shaky.

...It had been, Komatsu thought, years since Coco had lost control that badly, at least on accident. Years since he’d had this kind of emotional tumult?

Part of Komatsu wanted to feel bad, that he upset Coco’s carefully ordered world so badly. The rest of him was fiercely glad, because Coco’s life had been tiny, limited to a mountain top and a small town and almost no one he actually cared about. Just Kiss, and the fans he tried to avoid, and the vanishingly rare visits from Toriko.

Coco took Komatsu’s hand in his, very very carefully. Komatsu blushed, couldn’t even try to hide his ridiculous smile even if he wanted to--and he didn’t, with these men, not even with the new awkward awareness that they saw him as someone _desirable_ , which was not at all something that came naturally to him, really--and pulled Coco’s hand to his mouth to press a careful kiss to the back of it.

Zebra made a soft, Komatsu thought involuntary, noise of want, and so Komatsu, blushing hard now, copied the gesture with him. Then reached over for a lock of Sunny’s hair, and pressed a gentle kiss to that, too. Sunny went bright pink, and stuffed a chocolate-covered strawberry in his mouth that was possibly a little too big, and chewed fiercely, rolling his eyes when Komatsu--and then, surprisingly, Coco--giggled.

“Eat something,” Zebra said, and he pushed a bite of fruit at Komatsu--from his own plate, Komatsu couldn’t help but notice, and even though it was by no means necessary, something in him was fiercely glad, because he knew how badly hunger gnawed at Zebra, and he knew how fiercely defensive he was over his food, from his childhood (and, Komatsu expected, from his stint in prison, and _oh_ how that made his heart ache.)

Komatsu accepted the mouthful of crystal papaya, the most perfect orange-pink-red translucent color and bright and sharp with a drizzle of popping-boba lime, and because he could, he licked up a stray drop of papaya juice from Zebra’s finger.

Zebra almost yelped, turning bright red and staring at Komatsu like he’d turned into something dangerous, and Sunny actually choked on a mouthful of wine. Coco was trying to hid a smile, but he wasn’t trying very hard--and even he had a faint blush. Not that any of them were as red as Komatsu himself, he thought, based off the heat in his cheeks.

...He hadn’t expected that kind of reaction. It was a surprise, ridiculous really, considering everything about him, but it was also exceptionally gratifying.

And the evening slowly turned into cheerful chaos, and that was familiar. But Komatsu let himself touch every time he wanted to, let himself reach out whenever he had the impulse, and that was new. And even better, the three Kings reached _back._

\-------------------------

Komatsu woke up to the very beginning of dawn, the sun just starting to breach the horizon, and a feeling of restlessness.

There was an immediate, probably irrational fear that Komatsu had dreamt up the day before--the conversation, the confessions, the _kissing_ \--one he couldn’t quite shake, and Komatsu pulled on his clothes blindly, washed his face and brushed his teeth and slipped out into the brightening equatorial day with a vague impulse to kick the kitchen staff out of the galley so he could make breakfast. For himself and for the Kings.

Zebra was already up, at least, lounging on a deck seat like a thundercloud, and Komatsu’s heart skipped a beat--he knew that Zebra had to hear the skip in his heart, knew that Zebra had known Komatsu was waking up even before he did, if he was tracking his heartbeat and his breathing and any of the little sounds he made in his sleep--and part of him wanted to draw back.

But Zebra was watching him like he’d hung the stars in the sky, with terrible vulnerability, and Komatsu could never leave that look on his face if there was anything at all he could do that had even the smallest hope of changing it.

And of course, Komatsu had never let his fear stop him from doing anything. Mostly. (Had he put off asking Toriko about his feelings--that whole situation--because he was afraid? Komatsu was really, at the core of it, a coward. Terrified of losing what he had.)

So Komatsu let himself run and jump at Zebra, squeezing him as tightly as he could, and then wriggling up to kiss him soundly.

When Komatsu pulled away, Zebra was staring at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed and a little bit stunned.

“...Was that okay?” Komatsu asked, suddenly aware that he’d assumed a _lot_.

“You taste amazing,” Zebra blurted out, then went bright red and scowled murderously and buried his face in Komatsu’s shoulder. But he pulled him closer as he did, so Komatsu let himself relax.

“It’s just toothpaste?” Komatsu said, blinking. “Clove and ginger toothpaste.”

“No,” Zebra said, and he was--blushing, Komatsu couldn’t see much with the way that Zebra had pressed his face into his shoulder, but his ears were going red. “ _You_ taste--amazing. Your--you.”

Komatsu stared at him, open-mouthed, starting to blush a bit himself.

“...probably the gourmet cells,” Zebra added, in a low voice, so quiet that Komatsu had to strain to hear him even though they were so close. “...compatible ingredients. Yeah.”

“Does this mean the next time you get injured I can kiss it better?” Komatsu blurted out, before he could stop himself. Zebra jerked up to stare at him, a little shocked, then started to laugh, unselfconscious and relaxed in his amusement. It meant the world, to see him so _comfortable_.

“Maybe,” Zebra allowed. “...At least you can try.” He was, Komatsu realized with fascination, blushing again.

“We should practice,” Komatsu tried--not able to say that with a straight face, even though he _meant_ it, really, it was just that he was the inverse of a smooth seductor when it all came down to it--leaning in to nibble lightly at Zebra’s lip. His mouth had been stitched up for most of the trip, but the stitching was gone now. Komatsu suspected that last night, the stitches had gone loose and had to be removed, if they hadn’t been ripped out altogether. Komatsu hoped it hadn’t been on accident--he couldn’t imagine _sewing his face back together_ in the first place, let alone accidentally ripping the stitches out of his own flesh. He hoped Zebra knew he didn’t have to, not for anyone, _especially_ not for Komatsu.

It was strange, maybe, but no stranger than the rest of Zebra, and Komatsu loved every inch of him. Which was a _lot_ , really.

It wasn’t like Komatsu wasn’t a little strange himself.

The press of Zebra’s lips was so carefully gentle, even though his lips were rough, from both scars and chapping. He cradled Komatsu like something unimaginably fragile and immeasurably precious, and Komatsu fisted his hands in Zebra’s shirt to try and ground himself.

Zebra followed Komatsu’s lead, the brush of his lips and tongue and hands almost hesitant, and Komatsu had to wonder if he’d kissed anyone before, if he’d even had the chance to want to--because Zebra pushed everyone away, and almost everyone was too afraid to push back. Komatsu was just stubborn enough and dumb enough to not let Zebra scare him.

And it had earned him this: sitting in Zebra’s lap in the early morning sunshine, clutching broad shoulders and kneeling on muscular thighs so he could reach Zebra’s mouth, feeling him shiver and pant, incredibly responsive as he drowned in the sight and touch and taste and _sound_ of Komatsu.

When he surfaced, Coco had appeared, settling himself unobtrusively to the side, a tray of coffee and a light breakfast beside him. He was, apparently, trying not to stare at Komatsu and Zebra.

“Good morning kiss?” Komatsu asked hopefully, and when Coco hesitated just a second he felt an awful knot of fear start to tie itself in his stomach, that he was pushing Coco more than Coco was comfortable being pushed--but then Coco was rushing to him, almost fast enough to blur to Komatsu’s human eyes. He was flipped--man-handled, really, but he was _used_ to it now, with his Kings, it had become comfortingly familiar and had never felt like an insult--so his back was pressed to Zebra’s chest, Zebra’s hands huge and warm on his waist, and Coco leaned in to rest his head against Komatsu’s, eyes closed, before he took in a shay breath and leaned forward to kiss him.

It was still a close-mouthed kiss, Komatsu didn’t know whether out of actual danger or Coco’s concern, but the slide of Coco’s skin was electric, and Komatsu had to clutch at Coco and Zebra for balance, boneless and breathless with Coco’s responsiveness--

“ _Oh_ that’s beautiful,” Sunny murmured, and Komatsu managed to pull his eyes open, looking at the third King--his third--boyfriend, partner? Not partner, but--the person he was dating? They still needed to talk--smiling helplessly because _Sunny thought he was beautiful_. In his own way, for his own strengths, even when compared against Zebra and Coco and Sunny himself, maybe.

Sunny passed him a cup of coffee, apparently without thought, eyes still caught on Komatsu’s flushed face and thoroughly-kissed lips and slightly rumpled hair.

“Well, aren’t you going to kiss him too?” Zebra demanded of Sunny, not quite a threat, pushing Komatsu forward--ridiculous enough that Komatsu had to laugh, because it was--so very much a _Zebra_ thing, so very much _them_ , the four of them, together.

Sunny wavered, then slowly sank to his knees to match Komatsu’s height, eyes falling closed, hands cupping his face, mouth just barely parted and brow furrowed in deep concentration--

He had to be feeling-tasting Komatsu’s face, Komatsu realized, not bothering to pretend it wasn’t happening the way he usually did, all of that incredibly sensitivity focused on _him_. He could feel the faintest phantom brush of something--feelers--over his lips, and he had to smile even harder, letting himself go boneless into Sunny’s grip.

“Perfect,” Sunny murmured, mostly just to him, although probably Coco could still hear, and Zebra of course couldn’t miss it. “Beaut’ful, absolutely perfect--Komatsu,”

“Only because of how you see me,” Komatsu told him, gently, because _that_ was the gift, the way that Sunny looked at him.

He couldn’t resist anymore, and Komatsu leaned in to kiss Sunny, too, in his more ordinary way, no resistance but the slightest drag in what looked like empty air, but Komatsu knew to be full of Sunny.

When Komatsu pulled away, reluctantly, Sunny looked stunned, and he pushed Komatsu’s coffee cup back into his hands.

Komatsu took a drink: it was perfect, a dark, citrusy roast with a splash of milk, exactly what he liked. Of _course_ Sunny knew, just like Komatsu knew that Sunny liked a light roast taken black, that Zebra preferred sweet with or without milk, that Coco really did prefer tea, but always without adulteration.

“I was thinking about taking over the kitchen and cooking breakfast,” Komatsu admitted, and when his Kings descended into complaints and pointed eye rolling and despairing melodrama, the latter from Sunny, he couldn’t even regret it too deeply, because this way he got to share breakfast with the other three men, still figuring out the lines of the bonds between them.

And he could always cook lunch and dinner. It was _his_ birthday trip, after all, and he wanted to cook for the people he loved. That was always true.

-End chapter 7-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so SO much to everyone reading, to everyone who favorites/likes/gives kudos/subscribes, and most especially to everyone who comments. Your support means the world to me, I am always blown away that you like my stories so much, and I might not reply, but it's only because I am too full of squee to get the words out. You're amazing, you rock my world, thank you so much for reading. ♥


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